Lost and Alone
by juliasejanus
Summary: Post Cairo - Things get a million times worse for Alex. Third time unlucky for Alex as an enemy of Edward Pleasure kidnaps his fifteen year old foster son for revenge. Its a long journey back from his own personal exile.
1. Chapter 1

**_I don't want to die, but I ain't keen on living either._** _Robbie Williams - Feel_

...

"911 state your emergency"

"Please help… please I need cops, paramedics, this place is full of horrors. I killed him…. he…. he's got another kid here. I can't get him out…. my leg is fucked… I know I should cut it off like that climber…. but I'm sorry I just can't do it… the kid is crying… forget about me… just help him… he looked about eight… I don't know the address, even a general location. He snatched me in Pacific Heights three days ago. My names is Alex Rider… I'm fifteen… Please help…" At that point the recording showed the phone had been dropped, only muffled sounds of a child pleading to be freed in the background.

Alex Rider had made it to the grand old age of 15 and not quite three quarters and had seen the worst of humanity had to offer and survived. Once again, he had crossed paths with a psychopath and paid the price for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The burned spy was no where near whole or healthy and would be the first to admit he was a mess both physically and mentally. The sanctuary of family life with the Pleasures had been a pipe dream, he was never going to be normal and now he was reduced to a walking security risk. Only he wasn't walking anywhere, his lower left leg was encased in a freaky titanium cage to sort out the crushed mess made of his tibia and tibia. He would be lucky to walk unaided anytime soon and a limp was a certainty. He was never going to run or play football again. All of which was better than his own prognosis, which had been for amputation. He was still a lucky bastard for escaping without septicaemia. The real problem was he had nothing left to give or to fight for.

He had not even been looking for trouble, the bastard in question had been after Sabina to blackmail Edward. Inadvertently, Alex had saved her from a fate worse than death. After everything, he was glad she was unblemished, whole, pure and safe. The teenager wondered how Liz was taking the fact Edward's investigations had almost cost them their daughter. He could not even speak to them as they were in hiding now, probably somewhere far from San Francisco.

The horror of those three days had broken him completely. Razim and Julius temporarily forgotten and replaced by another nutcase. Now he was playing the role life had forced him, not spy, nor hero, or saviour but victim. Alex Rider was a broken child. All the paramedics and cops at that house had seen was a fifteen year old kid, abducted then viciously raped and tortured. Anyone asking questions now would not need to threaten him with anything, he would just tell them the plain unadulterated truth, secrets and national security were no longer enough to hold his tongue. The man with the cold eyes and malicious threats had not even asked any questions. He had just used Alex to get off in a personal game to get to an insignificant journalist for his fifteen minutes of fame.

Now he was back to square one, an embarrassment to both MI6 and the CIA, only now he was sure one who would never be a covert operative again.

He was alive, but that fact offered no comfort. The hard truth was that four days ago he had prayed for death and had begged for it; as his pleading for the man to stop, pleads that had gone unheeded. He was now not deluded by the fairy tale of any sort of normal family life, but only the certainty of a shallow, unmarked grave. He could now scream from the roof tops 'come on Scorpia finish the job, stop pissing about. Time to stop playing and get real. Make sure on a head shot next time'

Alex was happy to lay in the silence of his hospital room, contemplating the blinds, the window and the clouds beyond, the ceiling and the walls. He had not turned on the tv set nor asked for any books or magazines. The passage of time was signalled by the steady bleep of the monitors telling the teen his heart was beating within normal parameters, helped along by the oxygen and the drip.

He had let the cops assume and had only answered directly asked questions by the medical team and had neglected to contact his CIA handler. So, far he had only spoken to nurses here as he had been unconscious during the cops finding him at the house of horrors. He had strangled his assailant to death using ta length of electrical cord. A stomach full of sedatives, a shattered leg and handcuffs had not stopped Alex from his seising his break to freedom.

At least the doctors and nurses were aware of his need for silence and solitude, noting his wince of pain as they spoke in whispers in his presence. After Marie had exited, he could here the murmur of gossip as they worried about the orphaned boy with no visitors. It was only a matter of time before social services and the cops would come and disturb this moment of clarity with the awfulness of reality.

He closed his eyes and dreamt of home. He was back walking in Oxshot Woods; off the beaten track in an area of sparse undergrowth and deep piles of autumn leaves. He could smell the musty decay of the vegetation and feel the wetness at the bottom of his trousers in the early morning dew and the chill of the October mist on his skin. Here, he kneeled down and was moving the wet mulch and soft peaty soil with his bare hands. He smiled thinking about digging his own grave. His thoughts then turned to a lecture given by the dry, humourless frenchman at Malagosto, where he had learned about disposing of unwanted remains, in isolated places, drains, building sites; using bleach, acid or fuel to destroy the cadaver. Just how to cover the disturbed ground, to mask the site from any casual observer. He could not unlearn what he knew.

He was the not the master of his destiny, once again. What cards would he be dealt now? A family was out, as the Pleasures were no longer an option. Would it be Boarding School, prison or mental hospital; either here or back in England? Now, he played the waiting game of who would come and debrief him. The best he could hope for was that he stay as a teenager in the system. He wasn't even sure if he could stay in California, now the Pleasures were in longer in the picture.

That evening, after the meal of soft bland food, two cops, a federal agent and a social worker arrived and the Alex let the cat out of the bag, he was going to go with the truth not caring about the shit hitting the fan. He only had to wait for the right questions.

"My CIA handler is Veronica Mentz.. her number is …."

FBI Special Agent Dan Michael knew the number for Langley off by heart as he had worked there many years ago. His brain was trying to work the angles, had they missed the fact Sunny Brennan was somehow connected with international terrorism for those guys to be involved.

Alex decided to fill in the dots and not leave everyone hanging as no one had reached for their phones. "I was in Cairo in June, at the the International School, my guardian was murdered by a guy called Rahzim, he was an Iraqi Al-queda nutjob. Hence the CIA keeping tabs on me. The sicko rapist here had a major beef with my foster father, Edward Pleasure. He had written about the two failed kidnappings at my high school as a poorly executed copy cat wannabe and compared him to some other whacko. My kidnapper was after Sabina, Edwards biological daughter only he got me, the fucked up foster kid instead. Everyone else was out at the theatre. No one figured I was missing until the bastard posted the kiddie porn video starring yours truly. About sums up my life, unloved and unwanted." Alex took a slow sip of water before continuing. He was watching the clock above the nurses station and ignoring his interrogation squad. "All other details are classified, you know Official Secrets Act and all that bollocks. The CIA spook acting as my supposed handler went over some other such bull concerning US treason legislation, blah, blah. Everyone I considered family is dead. My life sucked big time before I came to sunny California. Oh, by the way… I think my residency here was dependant on my being fostered by Edward and Elizabeth Pleasure. They have binned me so you can post me back COD. Better call the British Consul General and maybe they'll contact Mrs Tulip Jones, who is my actual guardian, not those mere foster parents."

All present remained silent. "So, ask your questions, cause in 20 minutes I get my next dose of happy juice and I'll get 1 hour 40 minutes of blissful dozing before my leg hurts like its being sawn off, while being pulled in all the wrong directions for the 2 hours and 20 minutes until I get the next dose."

The social worker was the first to speak "We only want to confirm the details of your kidnapping. We will timetable a full interview when you are feeling better."

Alex looked at her, she was a hard woman used to doing this which was really shitty. There was no signs of pity or discomfort in her professional demeanour. "Last Wednesday about 8… I was doing homework. I had been grounded for missing my head shrinking sessions for the second week. Like I want to talk to that bitch, even less now, but hey. It was a delivery, guy was dressed as a fed-ex driver, dark glasses, caucasian, medium height, slim build, brown hair. Wait he had a van, so he really was a fed ex employee. I took the pad to sign for some fake package and he whacked me one over the head. I woke up naked and handcuffed to a bed god knows where with a nice concussion. I was left alone for that day. He came in after dark on Thursday… maybe Friday… he then started his games for a couple of hours, to get me nice and warmed up then left … Next morning … he raped me… videoed all it, went out.. came back.. raped me again, said it was better as I was nice and loose. Then he beat the crap out of me. I woke up some time later and the other kid was there. He gloated that I was never going to escape, that I would die a long slow painful death he then smashed my left leg to pieces. He then tried to take off my handcuffs. I knocked him down, got hold of the nearest thing, a length of electrical cord and I strangled him. I could hear the kid, he was locked in somewhere, but I had no keys. I made it up to the kitchen, got the house phone and called 911. Woke up in hospital with two tonnes of titanium holding my left leg together."

"So, I guess you can't wait to go back to England?" said the younger cop, obviously trying to get the kid to think of something positive.

"No. I'd rather not think about that or anything beyond this room. I'm safe here, I hope. Two cops on duty and all that. The nurses say it'll be a few weeks here, before rehab or someplace with nursing care. This cage is on for a while, a year at least, they think more if I have a growth spurt. The surgeon was quite positive. Physiotherapy starts tomorrow. I also have to see a cardiologist about my surgery last year. They are worried about the strain on my heart and pulmonary by my broken ribs. I'm also on antibiotics for the long term. Here is better than the London even like this. London … I was glad to go to Cairo… I thought I had the hope of family with Sabin's family. No, there is nothing in London for me. It was never home anyway, no really."

Alex was then saved by the nurse entering and administering his pain killer. He had made sure he was never given any control over his pain management as yesterday he had stated to just give him three days worth in one go to make sure he never woke up again.


	2. Chapter 2

Funny how your perception can change with circumstance. Alex got social workers and that group homes did not actually suck big time. Oh they sucked, but he had lived through worse. What really sucked was physiotherapy, whose practitioners were sadists only full of encouragement and wide honest smiles. When your world is reduced to tutors, bed and medical personnel for a year all other worries go out of the window. Going to the Group Home was merely him keeping to his room, eating at required meals and doing his allotted chores in a house filled with strangers. In the end he had only had to endure high school for nine months, where he merely ticking boxes as functioning and coping. Yeah, High School counsellors were easy to fool. He had been a Ward of the State of California, until he got the necessary grade points to graduate, no prom, no attendance at graduation and he had point blank refused to go in the yearbook. He had talked to no one voluntarily, made no friends and had only actually spoken when asked a direct question, answering with one word responses where ever possible. Any intrusive question were met with 'talk to my social worker' or 'the last guy that tried that died'.

The good thing about being an at risk teenager in the system meant no one had direct contact with Alex anymore. He had no wish to talk to anyone, not Sabina nor Tom, definitely not any spooks. Everything went through his Social Worker, the entire Department of Children's Services or the family court. His uncle's chosen guardians were ruled to be unfit, which had been the best day of Alex's short and unhappy life. Home had initially been a rehab facility in Fresno and then a group home in Bakersfield. He had saved his allowance and odd job money earned over that time to scrape together the airfare back to London. Waiting there was Ian's house, which he planned to sell and then he could possibly to go to university. To study something bland and boring, maybe geography, history or classics. For a life as a teacher, museum curator or librarian, so nothing exciting ever happened again. Alex Rider knew that plans, hopes and dreams were for fools. Better to go survivalist, get a place with good lines of site, a bunker and enough land for subsistence living, to avoid contact with anyone ever again.

It was mid summer in London, he had rented a room in a shared flat. His space had the luxury of a sink, where he got his drinking water, did his washing, ablutions and had no need to visit the shared facilities. Like he had been shown in Brecon, he pooed into nappy bags and disposed of them like any other dog walker. He ate food cold from tins, packs of sandwiches or salad on the remaindered pile in the supermarket. By the third week, Trisha the law student had had enough of the potential psycho killer in their midst and stormed into the room to see it was light, clean and aired. The bed covered in clothes and the fact the tenant was sleeping in a sleeping bag squashed between the bed and the desk.

Alex looked sheepish that she had discovered his freaky control issues. "I don't like wardrobes or beds. Bad experience with my last foster parents. I did not last long with them. Group home was better. Eleven placements in eighteen months… not good. I was a shit but the bastards meant to be caring for me were worse. I don't do communal anything after being in care. Calling it care is a complete fallacy, neglect and derision more like, mixed in with brutality and sexual abuse. People treat dogs better in my opinion. You're here to ask me to move out. Its OK, one weeks notice is all I need. End of July I'll be out of your place and you'll never see or hear from me again. You got a nice place. You need to do better background checks next time. The cash I gave you was not stolen. I earned every penny and not by sucking cock. No one touches me, not any more. So, conversation over. Nice knowing you. Please get out of my room. I promise it will be spotless when I leave. By the way I fixed the broken tile on your roof so the damp patch in the corner should clear up before your next tenants arrive."

Alex looked at his stuff and started packing. He had seen a nice place in Bermondsey. Not touched in years, absentee landlord. He did not need electricity. It had an open fire so he would be warm. Place was filled with rubbish, which he would clear out into a skip over a weekend. He sat on the bed and rubbed is aching left leg. The constant reminder of San Francisco. He was momentarily back in that basement, but he opened his eyes to nice, normal Clapham. He pulled out the booklet on universities and knew in his heart of hearts he wasn't going. He might even be undisturbed for years living in south-east London. He then stopped thinking of anything and meditated on his breathing. Don't make plans, don't hope and dream. Live for the moment, fuck everyone else. If he crossed paths with some megalomaniac now, he let them destroy the world. Better off dead, cause living sure as hell sucked.

The tall, leggy blond student returned from her run the next morning to see the door of the spare room wide open. It was beautifully clean inside, cleaner than it had been when rented out in June. No lodger, Al Brown had moved out.

….

Greg Morgan had lived in 12 Grange Park Road for four years. The house next door had been boarded up all that time. Such a waste, this area was lovely, with its 19th century terrace of two up two downs, a row that had survived the Blitz. Today he had come home from work and there was a half filled skip in his usual parking spot. The boards had been removed from the windows and doors. A young man in his late teens was washing the windows.

"Sorry about the skip. It'll probably take about another three to clear out the junk and rubbish. My names Alex…. I just inherited this place. I… I never knew anything about my family. My mum died when I was six weeks old and I've been in the system like forever. So, my great uncle died like fifteen years ago and he left me this place, which is cool. Better than the bedsit I was in. This is a freaking palace!" Alex had found the deeds on his first night there, last week. A modest fee at the Land Registry and this place was legally his. Rider luck had struck again. He had a job part time at a local cafe, enough to pay for food, utilities and his taxes. He could rent out the spare room next month once it was decorated and a shower was fitted. The cooker and fridge had been the first in the skip, he'd bought second hand replacements all ready. Some hipster in Canning Town had paid over a grand for the genuine fifties kitchen cabinets, site unseen. Alex had kitchen units, worktop and sink arriving from a bankruptcy sale on Thursday, for half that amount.

Tonight he was hand delivering Mrs. Jones' boss at Albert Embankment with instructions to gift Ian's money to Help for Heroes. He had carefully worded the three page letter for maximum psychological impact. No more puppeteers in his life, fuck Ian, fuck Alan Blunt, John Crawley and Tulip Jones. He had read the Diary of one elderly, isolated, lonely survivor of a work camp in Germany. Alex had decided that he could start anew. Work his way back towards being a member of society. He needed help, but he was not the spy, just an abused kid who survived the system. Solomon Schelling had shown him the error of trying to be alone, licking his wounds in private. Start down that path and in fifty years he would be an old man with no friends, no family and would die alone, unloved, Alex mourned a man he had never met. Poor Solly, there was a man who had needed saving. Alex new their were no saviours, you only saved yourself.

That was not the only contact with the past, he made. Emails long postponed were written.

Congresswoman Maria Bellwood read the email and called in her good friend and campaign manager. "Luisa, Alexander Rider has emailed. Read, he's back living in London."

"Oh how sweet, he hopes Danny is coping better than he has been and apologises for not being in contact sooner but he was overwhelmed by what happened and that sticking his head in the sand was not the best approach to coping and healing. I think its positive overall." The emails detailed that he'd been to a local rape counsellor and was getting to grips with his sexuality. No boyfriends yet, though. The woman looked pensive "I spoke to his social worker regularly, she said he was silent, closed off and unemotional. Thank God, he's finally breaking out of his self imposed stasis. Do you want to reply or shall I?" She was going to show this to her now twelve year old son, as he had never thanked his rescuer face to face.

…

Edward Pleasure was no longer a journalist, but now taught journalism at Brunel and on weekend courses. Liz had retrained and was now a nurse waking shifts in A&E have decided to do something not so frivilous. Losing Alex had been hard on all of then, especially the knowledge he wanted nothing to do with them.

"Dear (Foster) Mum, Dad and big sister. I know its been over three years since we last conversed. Put it down to a major sulk on my part, only the truth is I was too busy being completely psycho. You weren't singled out. I did not speak to anyone. My shrinks got me talking about tea, the weather, how boring life was at the clinic or how fucking awful the rehab was. I'm walking fine now. We have matching limps, Ed. I'm back living in London, Bermondsey. Nice squat. Got a job and finally talking about my three days in hell. Have group twice a week and see a therapist on Saturday mornings. I decided against going to college right away. I want to get my head straight and start dating. Sabina was right to question my sexuality when I turned her down. I fancy blokes. You haven't written a book about it all, want to talk? Email me and we can meet. I only pick up my messages every two to three days as I use the free internet at the library. Yes, funds are limited but Tulip Jones can go fuck herself and keep Ian's money. I went to collect my inheritance and those bastards bailed on doing the decent thing and honouring Ian's will over the technicality of me refusing therapy. I've been nuts since the incident with the Portuguese Man of War in Cornwall. Ask Sabina, I told her about Herod Sayle. I promise I'll be in touch. Caio Alex."

Ealing Hospital was busy on this Thursday night. There was a full waiting room when Edward went to reception. "Is Liz Pleasure on break soon? I'm her husband. A family well, its not an emergency, but she needs to know, OK? Its important." He only socialised with Liz's new friends. Sabina thought her mother's change in career was weird. Their daughter was living in Oxford and barely came home.

"OK, Mister. What's up? Sabina better not be pregnant!"

"No, but we may have to visit her, soon, like tomorrow, but we could FaceTime her now." The fifty year old grey haired man thrust his iPhone at his wife. "Read the open email. I know you know my password."

"Oh my God… O jesus, he called me mum!" The woman speed read the email and then reread it as the tears started to flow. Her voice broke with pent up worry, hurt and deep guilt. "He's been silent for three years! That bitch at Children's Services said we'd done enough damage. He was hurt and alone. A frightened child. Hurt upon hurt, he coped the only way he could by shutting down. Now reduced to living in a squat and short of funds. Have you emailed him back?"

"Yes, I suggested we meet for lunch at Alfonzo's on the Old Kent Road on Tuesday. He says he's working so who knows if its a good time. I will meet him then try and persuade him to come to Sunday lunch as family." Edward wanted to play this reunion low-key. Ease Alex back into their family. First they had to sound out Sabina's reaction.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex led his boyfriend upstairs, he was moving forward, leaving the horrors from his past behind. This was the final step on his twelve point plan for getting over all his personal hang-ups.

Stood in the neat and tidy bedroom, his futon made up with fresh new bedding, tea lights flickering on the windowsill. "We've been dating for five months. I want this. I want you to move in with me. Everyone says penetrative sex is good, amazing and nothing to freak about. I've wanted you… like since our second date. I know we've done everything to lead up to this. I love you touching me. I know you prefer to top. Show me how good this can be. No condoms, we are both clean." Alex felt like this was his first time, because Rob was his first boyfriend. He was wiping away everything Brennan had done. Rape and sick games had nothing to do with this beautiful man who now shared his life.

Rob kissed him slowly, lingering to show his devotion. "This is going to be slow and wonderful. We can stop at anytime. Just say your safe word and I'll back off. Lets get comfortable on the bed. Take my clothes off, love. Unwrap me."

…..

Rob had grown up in Kingston, in south-west London; but he had not been home much this year. In fact it had been September the last time he'd been home for dinner. "Hi, Mum. I got your message and I'm coming back for Christmas, only…. I want to bring my boyfriend. We've been dating since Easter. Its serious. You know I moved to Bermondsey, well thats his place. We are living together." Robert bit his lip in anticipation, as his family had treated his coming out as if it was the same as his brief flirtation with vegetarianism.

"So, tell me about your mysterious boyfriend. Did you meet at University? Is he another doctoral student or one of your lecturers?" The woman knew her son did not socialise outside of his small circle of friends, working too hard to excel as he wanted his PhD finished on time for him to get a position as an industrial/organisational psychologist with some global corporation rather than go into practice in the NHS.

"Alex is twenty, so three years younger than me. I'm his first boyfriend. He works at the Coffee Palace on the South Bank. The manager Loony Dave is like his scary godfather. He decided against college, but I swear he's brighter than me. He reads and reads. Speaks French, German, Russian, Japanese and even Spanish better than me. He hates television, but is addicted to Radio 3 & 4."

"He sounds lovely, I'm sure we'll all love him to pieces." She could tell her son was sounding her out.

"He is not perfect, but I love him including his flaws, his emotional baggage and the fact he only tells me bits and pieces about his past. Heavy editing on his part because what he has said is horrific. He was neglected by his uncle, emotional and psychological abuse. He does not get happy families. He… he was badly abused as a teenager. He goes to group at the Crisis centre. We met when he volunteered to teach the Self defence class. He's a black belt in Karate. I did his background check. He was in foster care and a group home. I have met his last foster parents. No, he does not have a close relationship with them, but he is still friendly on his terms. Let me show him how our strange mix and match works. I have you, my wonderful mother; a great father figure in your husband, my step dad; my grumpy older brother ands kooky younger sister. We work, you are even still close with papa, despite everything. Alex… he is a complex guy. Do you want to come for dinner before the holidays? Actually I think that might be a good idea. See you guys on Sunday about 4. Don't worry I'm not cooking. Alex is learning and has not disappointed so far."

Esme Blanchard pondered on this and then asked "He's not a patient of yours then?"

"No, I don't do rape nor child abuse cases. My specialism is work stress and behavioural testing, not what Alex has had to survive. I only volunteer at the Centre to get hours on my CV, though I get helping out now. I have been such a blinkered career driven arsehole. I'm much more relaxed now."

"Yes, Nigel and I will come over this weekend and meet your lover."

…

James Sanchez was home for Christmas for the first time in three years. He was also very late. It was well after midnight, but his mother has texted telling him just to go to his room as his bed was made up. Even after all these years, he felt a bit of an outsider in this large detached villa on Kingston Hill, the house belonging to his mother's husband, Nigel.

As he unpacked his small bag he remembered arriving in this palace as a resentful ten year old, brought up in Spain and smarting from his parents violent break up and the six months spent living in the women's refuge in Dagenham. Nigel Blanchard was a consultant psychiatrist, who had welcomed his two step children into his home with his new wife. Rob had taken his step father's name after being adopted. James had refused that change, remaining aloof and insular. Even if he was no longer on speaking terms with his real father.

His mother had bluntly put a stop to his objections to her new husband with her speech about love. "My big man, I found happiness. You need to understand that you grab that when you find it. I love Nigel and that does not change the fact I love you and Robbie. I tried staying with papa, but that's over. The end. He made it crystal clear by his actions that it was over. He tried to beat you, honey. No more, never again. Your papa not only crossed the line he obliterated it. He has not once tried to attend his allowed supervised visits with you boys. He could see you every second weekend. You try to phoning him and get his answerphone. I know it sucks, but give Nigel a chance." Now his mother had given almost exactly the same speech about Rob's new fling. His brother's past boyfriends were embarrassingly bad. What would this new effeminate little ladyboy be like?

Like clockwork, James was awake at 5AM. He got up, pulled on clothes and went for a run. He returned through the back gate to see a tall, slim figure going through katas on the patio dressed in full hoodie and track suit trousers, face obscured by the angle. Maybe Rob's bit of fluff was not such a waste of space. The gruff soldier did not bother to introduce himself or make his presence known, he just went into the kitchen as his mother would be up.

"Morning, Jaime. I'm so jealous of Alex, what beautiful hair. He has not cut it in five years and its down to his waist. I wish I had thick, luscious blond hair like that."

From this angle the special forces soldier could see the plait hanging over the bloke's shoulder. Bloody hell, talk about taking needing a hair cut to the extreme. He almost laughed. "Sure, its natural?"

"Yes, I can tell its not a bottle job by the way his eyebrows and eyelashes match. I have suggested that your brother starts spoiling him, he needs nice clothes. He could be a model."

As James buttered his toast the interloper entered the kitchen and dramatically stopped.

"Well hello, Wolf. I take it your Robo's older brother; described as the career officer in the Army. Do they know you're a terrorism specialist with the SAS and occasional MI6 fuckwit?"

Wolf retorted with a sharp "That's classified Cub!"

"I stopped giving a rats arse about secrets and lies after Jack burnt to death. Where were you guys when I spent a year in hospital getting my leg rebuilt, well the Bank probably told you I grazed my knee considering they told you I had an appendicitis after Scorpia's bullet just missed my heart." Alex then looked at the shocked expression on Esme's face. "Thanks for inviting me, but I'm off home. I'll call Rob later. He likes to sleep in, so I won't wake him with the bad news that his brother is one of the reasons I'm in therapy. Don't look all innocent, Wolfie. Remember Brecon. I do in my nightmares."


	4. Chapter 4

As Alex walked east from Waterloo; he had already concluded he had no avenues for escape, nor the funds to actually disappear; but he had made friends with another survivor. His boss at the coffee shop had the right sort of less than legal connections. Alex also could barter with his ill gotten house in Bermondsey as collateral. Somehow, he got the feeling that Dave knew quite a bit more about Alex than he had ever told him. Not surprising as that between fourteen and fifteen he had made a big splash in the small world of criminals, spies and assassins. Plus his father had made the wrong sort of friends when John Rider had been on remand for murder at HMP Wormwood Scrubs in 1983.

…

The Coffee Palace was round the corner from Guy's Hospital and London Bridge Station and had good passing trade by serving excellent brews. Loony Dave ran the place and lived above. The premises were formerly record shop, which had been his dad's pride and joy, specialising in jazz imports. Unsold Records found in the basement now lined the walls. Dave's dad had died here. Dave had inherited the premises and taken it over after his last stint in the clink, but he was no music aficionado and had transformed the place into a cafe for coffee lovers, like himself. He was an ex-con, a lifelong gang member, happy to take the fall for a mate and had done seven years hard time, after several shorter stints inside. He had friends in low places, only his friends had risen to run the rackets in South London. Now he did not need to pay protection, not when the Maning Brothers had breakfast here, two to three times a weeks.

Alex had been working at the Coffee Palace for three days when Melvin Maning had done a double take over the trainee barista, "My my, a blast from the past. You must be John Rider's boy, you are the spit of him. How's your old man doing? Last I heard he was doing cleaning jobs abroad? Must have retired and raised a family?"

Alex looked at the guy in the Savile Row Suit with mismatched hand and neck tattoos. "My parents were murdered in 1987, when I was a baby. I survived the system and my cunt faced bastard of an uncle. So, you knew Hunter?"

The gangster had laughed heartily at the use of John Rider's working alias, "Yeah, he was a real gentleman and a scholar. Should have taken up my offer of employment. Did not pay as well, but he'd still be breathing. Those people in Venice were scary, secretive and with a tendency to permanently remove those who tried to stop working for them. So, you called John junior?"

"No Alex… Alexander John Rider, pleased to meet you Mr Maning. Dave says your a tosspot, but an honourable one." Alex smiled as he shook the gang boss' hand.

"I try to keep my promises. You happy working for an old lag like Dave?"

"Yeah, I'm in the same club so to speak."

"Ahh, you don't look like a nancy boy, but neither does Dave." The grey haired businessman looked at the young man with blank face, excellent reflexes and wary eyes. Here was a kid that had survived his childhood, barely. No wonder Dave had taken him on, the guy had a soft spot for fellow survivors. Melvin Maning had shared a cell in Wormwood Scrubs with the dishonourably discharged Lieutenant Rider, MC. That guy had been the best bare knuckle fighter he had ever seen and had taken young Melvin under his wing, showing him some moves and how to take the world by the balls. He would pay good money to bury the bastards that had hurt his one time friend's only kid.

….

Mid morning and there was a lull in customers, when Dave Canning noticed his part time employee was stood waiting to order. "Hello, trouble. Nice to see you and all, but aren't you and Robbo spending Christmas together somewhere posh?"

"Not anymore. Can I crash here? You offered. I… can't do families. His brother is a grade A psycho. I… I can stay with Ed and Liz if its a bother."

"No bother, Henry will try and feed you up though. He thinks you need to put on a few pounds. Saying that, its fashionable to be super skinny."

"I'm not about fashion. Issues about everything. Might have to sell my place."

The Barista came from behind the counter to hug this kid he and Henry would have loved, adopted, protected and he silently cursed the scum of the earth that had hurt this beautiful young man. "Don't run. You have a good life here. I can get you some nice tenants in by New Year if you need. We have room for you to stay here. Henry would kick me out before he'd turf you out on your ear."

"Rob knows I work here. His brother… he was one of the bastards that hurt me. They will be able to find me, my former guardians who ruined my life. I'm petrified the blackmail will start again. They'll threaten you and Henry. They tried to get to Ed and Liz, but I cut ties. Got myself lost in the system, so to speak. Running would be for the best in the long run. Find someone who will buy my place for a quick cash sale and I can be on the continent by January"

"No, I don't scare easy. In fact, let me talk to Mel. Let me call in a favour or two in your birth father's name. John Rider was a good man. Well thought of by not just the Maning's but the Goulds and the Darrington's as well". That about covered all the old East and South London Gangs, not those stupid newcomers, who answered to Miami, Moscow or Macau.

Alex pondered getting into another sort of family, where honour and truth meant everything. Criminals who had more morals than those in power. "I'm not exactly good at anything except making coffee."

"You can shoot, you can fight and boy can you talk. A trust worthy translator, your Spanish and Russian guarantee you employment. It will probably not be in London, but I sense you want to put distance between you and your ex." What were the chances that soft and cheerful Rob was loosely connected to the shady dealings of the Rider's shady past. Poor kid, he'd been happy, started to let grass grow under his feet. Now he'd keep moving and not trust no bastard, no matter how much a sweet talker or how hot they were.

…..

The strip club in Greenwich was full of half naked women auditioning for the entertainment manager. Loud pop music blaring as Alex made his way upstairs to the small office past several guys half watching him but more interested in the young lady gyrating around the pole on stage.

Barry Maning looked up from the accounts to appraise John Rider's boy, the kid of twenty who had impressed his brother with his blatant cheek. Either the kid had balls of brass or did not care if he lived or died. Looking at the cold emotionless face surrounded by a halo of golden angelic hair, this young man had been broken along the way and was now trying to keep going, clutching on to the shattered remains of his humanity. From here he could make a murderer, torturer and true asset to Maning personal retinue, but he somehow doubted he had the subtle skill to gain this enigma's loyalty. "Maxim Belkov is a man with few friends and a lot of enemies. He's has muscle a plenty but wants true 24/7 protection. The last rent boy to grace his bed tried to kill him, the Russian was paranoid enough to have kept a taser on him. If you take him up on 500k a year with full medical cover, you'll need to provide entertainment, vanilla only I have been assured but you will please him no end being a twink. Its prostitution, but life is in my opinion."

"I take it the guy's old, fat, bald, ugly and with a small dick." Alex smirked at that image "I don't even mind if there's an exclusivity clause."

"That might bring you a nice bonus. So, I sent him your CIA file, redacted of operational security details, but it still makes impressive reading. You taking out Rothman, Rahzim, and Wu has made you quite a few fans on both sides of the law. He will provide all your clothes and has promised to outfit you with an arsenal when you get there." The gruff south Londoner took the quip and offer of no other sexual partners for the duration of the contract to mean agreement to travel. "Guy's sending a private jet. You will be fully screened for STD on your arrival at his estate and be part of general security detail until the all clear on the test results. I need your passport for a full visa, which will take a day or two to arrange. Go home and pack your personal items. I suggest you keep it to what you can easily carry. This guy moves around a lot."

…

Alex took his first impression of his new home at the former palace of some long dead Grand Duke. Classical splendour that survived the revolution in 1917 and was now home to a billionaire who had trashed nature reserves, paid off whole governments with multi-million dollar bribes and had ruthlessly destroyed his rivals in eastern Siberia.

During his last few days in London Alex had done his homework on his new number one guy. The article in Newsweek had shown several paparazzi photos of the forty-six year old, slim and fit of medium height with short greying blond hair, blue eyes and moderate slavic looks marred by a broken nose and cheek bone and a deep scar on his left cheek. He was a thug with a thin veneer of business respectability. He had moved to make big gains after the sudden death of Nikolai Drevin. Paul Drevin was still a very rich young man, just not in the billionaire's club.

A tall military type met him when he landed in Russia and Alex without a second thought was stood to attention and saluted him like he had been taught in Brecon.

"Your leg pain's you much?" the man asked in accented English.

"The cold and damp is a bitch. I can run adequately, but not for long distances. I'm afraid Pen-y-Fan is no longer part of my repertoire." Alex answered in his own accented Russian.

"SAS trained. That will please the others. You must give us pointers on improving our training. All here are former FSB or Spetnaz."

"Ex-MI6 Special Operations not Army. SAS are a bunch of cunts in my opinion." Alex said sourly.

"Well, lets get you settled. You have a private room, next to mine. The doctors will assess you today and tomorrow we have sparring and targets. The cross country skiing is optional considering your infirmity."

"I might ski. I haven't tried since rehab. I always preferred downhill myself."

….

Maxim was due back home in four hours and his flight was spent reading the assessments and medical file on Alexander John Rider. Karate black Belt, trained in multi-skill hand to hand combat, assassin grade. Ambidextrous, Perfect shot with both handguns, rifles and machine guns; proficient with knives and fair fencer. Skilled driver and with excellent situational awareness. Alex had been fitted out with four guns, five knives and three garrottes. The medical had proved the physical impairment from a serious leg injury was moderately serious. Alex could still run but not for any great distance. He had skied for 5 kilometres and been OK after a massage from the physiotherapist. The doctor had recommended he continued swimming and possibly incorporating horse riding to keep fit to reduce impact on his impaired lower left leg. No STDs, slightly under nourished, but the contact in London had stated that MI6 had burned their ex-teen spy, making him homeless and poor in an attempt to force him back into the fold. Young Mr. Rider had preferred the extreme of poverty and no hope of gainful employment than to rejoining his abusers.

This very talented individual was a prize, one he would provide with the best care. He looked over the video footage as this twenty year old sparred his current guards not on duty, beating them all with ease, even after a five year hiatus. The young man had secretly kept up his skills, while hiding behind the construct of a washed up, traumatised orphan.

….

Alex had gotten to know the few staff on the estate. The back-up and trainee body guards were vary of this outsider, the very experienced trainers were the most chatty, the housekeeper and the curatorial staff for the house smiled and spoke of he history of the house. All here were Russian, all well paid and very happy with their employer. Today, he was swimming in the indoor 25m lap pool, but was aware the house was being prepared for the arrival of this business tsar.

"Masha, where is my guest?"

"In the pool, Maxim. He has been very polite and has enjoyed reading about the History of the Tulikov Estate."

"A swim sounds like an excellent idea."

Maxim stripped and showered, before dressing in a pair of designer shorts. Rider was still continuing with his laps, but stopped to pull out as he noted the arrival of his new boss.

"Good Morning, Sir. Its good to meet you."

"Call me Maxim. I have been informed you prefer Alex?'

"Or Sasha or Shura, if you prefer."

"Sasha, then. Welcome to my home. Your home too." The man looked at the long plait of golden hair and wondered if Alex would agree to a haircut. Maxim them dived into the pool.

Alex had just been confirmed as this man's lover and personal body guard. A new life, the life of a pampered prince considering the calculating look in Maxim's eye. Alex wondered if he would recognise himself tomorrow as he was transformed into a billionaire's life companion.

….

Robert had been dismayed by the arrival of three boxes of possessions delivered by courier too his parent's home on New Years Eve. He had been sure Alex would have cooled off after spending Christmas with his former foster parents and everything would have been OK once they got back together. James had not said much about the accusation of being an abuser except Alex had been sent to the Army for a short sharp shock course at fourteen and yes he had been hazed a bit, but they had been fine the next time they'd met at some boarding school incident. Now he had been dumped. There were tenants in Alex's house, two junior doctors.

The doctoral student then went to where Alex worked to see a new girl cleaning tables and a blunt 'get the fuck out of my place, tosspot' from Looney Dave, followed by the threat 'if I see you or your brother here I'll rearrange your faces.' accompanied by a crack of his tattooed knuckles.

Where the hell was Alex?


	5. Chapter 5

Before he had left London, Alex had read the heavily edited copy of his CIA file, while wondering how the gang boss had procured it. There in black and white had been a full psych assessment stating fifteen year old Alex was heterosexual. At fourteen he had been besotted with his uncle's murderer, doing everything in his power to deny that fact, doubly so after the Russian assassin's death. Maxim was cut from a similar cloth as Yassen Gregorovich. Cold, calculating, precise and a man who knew his path in life and had no qualms of destroying all those in his way. Did this Maxim think he was just a man after money and with no sexual attraction to the same sex? Who cared, he had been polite asking if Sasha would mind cutting his hair. Alex had done it there and then, a knife cutting off the fifteen inches of plaited hair. The staff barber had then styled the remains into a short, choppy and supposedly sexy mess.

The tall middle aged spinster who acted as Maxim's second in command then passed the new personal bodyguard an itinerary for manicures, grooming and a note there would be a daily wardrobe update to compliment Maxim's choices. In the wing of personal rooms, Alex was given a tour, he had his own personal office/private space equipped with an iPhone and iPad and shown his own walk in wardrobe where his own items were shelved in one corner. Rows of suits, shirts, t-shirts, trousers, shorts, socks and shoes, coats and training clothes had been purchased. The woman smiled stiffly "These clothes will be yours to keep once your 12 month contract is up, that is if you do not wish to stay. Then next fours seasons items will be bought. Items once worn need to be placed here for dry cleaning or laundering. You have several changes of shirt the same style, just in case of accidents. Do not worry about packing. These things will be done for you."

…..

Alex had changed from his generic training clothes to a casual shirt and trouser combo and had chosen not to wear a tie. That evening Alex waited in the dining room for his host to arrive for dinner, when he would start his full duties as professional shadow. He sat and took in all the details of this splendidly appointed room. Maxim breezed in on his phone talking fast, when he paused his conversation. "You speak japanese, please translate this document into either english or russian."

Alex scanned the faxed page and wrote down the details, thankful it was a fairly straight forward request sheet for parts, nothing too technical. The telephone conversation concluded with a dismissive "Luca, its a parts list for the Kawasaki 360's needed at Novosibirsk Drill Site 234. Not an invoice nor a ransom demand."

"Thank you for that, Sasha. I must say, you look wonderful this evening. I prefer short hair. I am dying to know to whom did you request the hair was sent to?"

"A friend's mother, she was envious of my long hair, so now she can have it. Just a word of warning, I hate dentists, so if you want my teeth upgrading, you'll need to seriously tranquillise me for it to happen." Alex had wondered on the request for him to wear grey coloured contacts, but he was here to look the part of arm candy. He was tall, slim and now dressed like a catwalk model. He no longer looked anything like the old style Alex Rider.

"The doctor assured me your teeth were in excellent condition, also stated you had no allergies. However, is there anything you dislike eating?"

The new employee pondered this "I dislike roast lamb, but I will eat it. I'm not overtly fond of cold custard or iced tea, but I will eat anything if required. I love curries, like most Englishmen, the hotter the better. Adore Japanese food. I have never tried Korean food but I can say I heartily disliked the hospital food I was served in Murmansk, but I cannot say what it was only that it was disgusting."

"I can understand that an army medical clinic would not be the best cuisine. I employ both an Italian and a French chef, they alternate. I do not eat pizza or fast food myself. Tonight it is magret du canard for entree. The soup is vichyssoise and dessert is tarte tartin. I prefer simple food. I take it you do not drink?"

"Not on duty, otherwise in moderation; as I have found you should never let your guard down, ever." Alex was bluntly honest, getting kidnapped had taught him that.

"Small taster glasses of wine with each course tonight. There are no overt threats here. I can relax as all my staff have been thoroughly vetted."

Alex was numb rather than nervous with anticipation. The feeling that had settled over him since his confrontation with Wolf. Here he possibly could relax, in the woods several hundred miles from St. Petersburg, far beyond MI6's sphere of influence.

As Alex finished the excellent turkish coffee that ended the meal, knowing it was time for him to earn his keep.

Alex brushed his teeth and arranged the dirty clothes as instructed for the staff to deal with tomorrow. He put on a robe as he walked into his and Maxim's bedroom.

…

Wolf was meant to be having a fun night out with old friends, but Rob had tagged along like a wet weekend, still moping about his missing ex. He had rationalised that Cub, Alex, had got a job abroad because of cold feet, but twenty year old kids did that, not be sensible, get shacked up and settle down. That kid had always been a wild one.

As Wolf put a pint of best in front of his brother, his phone rang with the specific tone stating it was mother. A woman who normally communicated by text. "Hi, mum what's the emergency?" He listened and then looked at Rob. "No, Rob hasn't heard a peep from Alex. We'll be there in an hour." The gruff SAS man then started to down his pint in anticipation of their quick exit. "Drink up, we have to go home."

"What's wrong?" Asked Rob as he started to quaff his beer.

"Your ex never cut his hair, did he?"

"No, did not like strangers touching him. So, no barbers."

"Seems Alex sent his pigtail to mum with a note saying it was not a requirement of his new job. Mum's a bit upset about it. It's creeped her out." Wolf did not add that the note was typed and that a bike courier had dropped the offending item off in a very fancy gift box. It was all very disturbing, Wolf wanted to put it down to the little git wanting to psych them out, only mum had genuinely stated that she coveted those long locks. It was the weirdest gift ever.

…..

Maxim was not in bed, but on the terrace, sat in his hot tub with a glass of champagne. "You look like you need relaxation." The Russian had observed his tense would-be lover. The man was very young and possibly had little experience of homosexual sex. "Have you had many lover's."

Alex lowered himself into the perfectly heated water. "One, we took it slow and broke up just before Christmas. Family difficulties as in I don't get families."

The Russian passed over a crystal flute of champagne to his companion and queried "Was she wanting commitment?"

Alex smiled at that misnomer. "Well, he had already moved in to my place. The sex was good, but he didn't get me. We switched, but he preferred to top. I'm assuming you're the same?"

Maxim was surprised that this young man had already had a serious relationship already, but had no interest in casual relationships. He must prefer monogamy, considering he suggested the exclusivity clause. The businessman had never had a live in lover before. "I'm not averse to switching, but I like to pitch not catch as the American's say. I take it you are not into casual sex."

"No, your approach tonight is perfect. I might have freaked if you'd just demanded sex."

Alex sipped his glass of vintage champagne, savouring the aftertaste of toasted hazelnuts.

Maxim was relaxed and had a nice genuine smile as he quipped "Seduction is an art. I am an adequate lover, my technique will not disappoint."

Alex decided to be a bit blunt. "I would prefer for all outsiders to consider me just the hired fuck toy. I will be available for sex when and wherever as any hired entertainment would be. I will be tooled up in all places not considered 100% secure, so it will be dirty quickies or blow jobs. Your tailor did a great job of anticipating shoulder, back and ankle holsters,

both for knives and guns."

"Well, Ivan sent details through as soon as you chose your equipment. I was surprised at the wide range of hardware."

"Knives and garrottes are a necessity as guns are not always advisable." Alex wondered when or if he would be confronted with his first assassination attempt. He had already asked Ivan to build in test scenarios into training.

Alex finished his glass of liquid relaxation, stood and moved over to his boss and boldly kissed him. "So, Maxim, how do you like the fact you are just my type?"

"That is refreshingly mirrored by my own attraction. Lets take this to our bedroom."

At five Alex had woken intent on exercising before breakfast, but Maxim had caught his hand and pulled him back into the bed. "I am the boss. Your timetable just got rearranged. Exercise and spar when I have meetings otherwise, you are mine, my little shadow."

...

Holidays over and the gruff SAS operative was glad to be back in the fold and planning his next bit of black ops. At lunch Wolf had a break from his induction and briefings. He strolled through the cubicles on the fourteenth floor to see Fox hunched over his computer, deep in thought going over his reports. "Hey Fox, long time no see. Saw Cub at the beginning of the holidays."

The dark haired Liverpudlian turned and stared at his ex-SAS team mate. "Right, do you know anything about him going freelance then?"

"What?" exclaimed the shocked special forces operative. "He was washed up because of his leg wasn't he?"

"Gave us that impression as well. That and our assessment of him being psychologically unfit for anything apart from cleaning tables. The Russian's sent us some intel, Alex is now working for Maxim Belkov as his very personal bodyguard."

"Not heard of Belkov? Some billionaire I suppose."

"Nasty piece of work, legitimate oil and gas magnet now, but started off as a Siberian oil worker who allegedly murdered, bribed and blackmailed his way to the top. FSB state Alex is now on the payroll for 500 grand a year. Sterling not roubles as well, plus bonuses."

"What? That's a fortune. Hell I need a job like that one!" Wolf knew that was getting on for a serious amount of kills for a top class assassin.

"Really, Blenkov is a homosexual and the job description has Alex living as his shadow, acting as translator, when needed, and sharing his bed. I've read your contact report. I've been getting my balls busted today because my report submitted in November stated Alex was happy, co-habiting and on the way to being downgraded to mere ex-employee not a major threat to national security. The CIA is having kittens as Alex worked with their black ops teams. He can out deep cover operatives in Russia. Alex may just have upgraded himself to their sanitation list."

….

Seven months of visiting oil rigs, pipelines and vast expanses of forest and tundra, meetings with geologists, engineers, designers and bureaucrats from Tashkent to Vladivostok and three feeble attempts on Maxim's life had been deterred by fists, a knife and today one well placed shot to the head. He occasionally was needed to translate but mostly he was part of the furniture, most judged him merely as Maxim's bit of fun and ignored him accordingly. His twenty-first birthday spent on a two day conference in Japan, where fifteen separated death threats had been received and assessed, but with no actual incidents and Alex had acted as translator more than a bodyguard.

Today he was being interviewed by the two FSB agents dressed as militiamen over the last incident with a guy dressed as a pipeline worker who had raised a gun to shoot Maxim and Alex had put a bullet through his left eye, perfection according to his instructors at Malagosto.

Alex signed his statement "I'm upset by the fact the nutter got so close, but the guy was holding the gun like an amateur, the shot could have taken out Maxim, the engineer or the Boring Accountant."

"Was there a reason for the head shot given you assessed him as an amateur?"

"I was taught always go for the left eye if you have a clear shot, assume the opposition is wearing body armour and he was close enough to get several shots off. He was wearing a vest, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Russian standard military issue. We have yet to identify him. He carried forged papers."

With his statement taken, Alex had been in police custody for ten hours. He had been assessed by the FSB as a low level threat, making his living as a bodyguard and with no interest in the great game. Grimy and exhausted, he was driven back to Maxim's private plane, which had been sent back to collect him. Maxim and his entourage were already several thousand miles west. Alex crashed as soon as the wheels left the runway, he slept like a deadman until he landed on Maxim's private airstrip. A quick wash and change at base as the next stop on the itinerary was Moscow, back to civilisation.


	6. Chapter 6

The apartment was luxurious penthouse, as Alex stood by the plexiglas window and looked towards the city centre, the Kremlin just in view. He was dressed in a penguin suit and anxious over the party tonight. He stretched his neck and his vertebrae cracked.

Maxim had never expected this relationship to be so accommodating, nor so sensual. His young lover was insatiable and had not once expressed any qualms over intimacy. He liked the fact he now knew the man well, as he observed the fact his companion was tense and alert as tonight they were relying on Presidential security. Sasha was never a great conversationalist, but was dry and witty. The young man very bright and always a keen observer. Several times, whispered observations had alerted Maxim to be wary of various individuals. It was quite refreshing to get back up to his own honed instincts.

Alex took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "I expected the FSB to be more shitty of me stepping on their toes. They were surprisingly OK about the mess in Surgut."

Maxim had survived multiple assassination attempts, the number down since he had employed Alex Rider. The teen agent known to have killed several high profile enemies. Offers over several million had been forwarded to the twenty-one year old for his employment, but Alex had just smiled and stated bluntly "I know half these people only want me as a trophy and the rest probably want to off me rather than pay me." Alex was planning on earning enough to go back to training or running a small security company rather than be drawn into proper cleaning work as most viewed him as nothing more than an assassin for hire. He already knew his employment with Maxim was guaranteed as long as he wanted it. Staying put was easy. Neither men likely to be emotionally compromised.

Alex had his medical file as metal detectors always posed a problem when your skeleton was enhanced with considerable bits of titanium. The fact also meant he could sneak over two thin knives and garrotte into hidden pockets in his suit jacket. "Miss Pallinsky showed me the guest list tonight. We may cross paths with ghosts from my past. Boris Kiriyenko, Andrei Bugayev and from the American Embassy Veronica Mentz."

"You knew Premier Kiriyenko?"

"Met him on holiday in Cuba. If he calls me Aleksandr Alexeyevich do not act surprised." Alex grimaced at that revelation.

Maxim wondered on this, in the CIA file the name General Alexei Sarov, then in exile living in Cuba, had been mentioned with regards to the procurement of illegal fissile material. A puzzle as Kiriyenko had stepped down due to ill health at that time. A more hard line government stepped into power in his wake. General Sarov had also died. The oil magnet knew Bugayev, a department head in Internal security. "Ms. Mentz?"

"My former handler at the CIA, now pretending to be a Diplomatic Press Officer. A pen pushing jobsworth bitch and someone I'd rather be strangling than making small talk with." Alex looked at the calculating look on Maxim's face and he guessed that information would be passed on.

A hard smile graced Maxim's face "I'm sure an accident could be arranged."

"After I leave town, because if she's found floating in the Moskva River, I would be number one on the suspect list." Alex liked that his boss had a very dark sense of humour. "Long, slow death, OK. Shame I was taught to be quick and efficient." In San Francisco, he had been promised 24/7 surveillance, due to the high assassination risk. Only she had downgraded the alert status without informing her superiors as he was just a foreign kid.

Maxim would look up this woman and wondered what precisely she had done for level headed and calm Alexander to wish her a dismal demise.

Alex looked at his lover intently. "We are safe here." Alex had gotten used to catnapping with his weapons in easy reach. He wanted to relax, craved a return to the isolated country estate.

"Yes. Full state protection as well as my own bodyguards, why?"

"Seduce me again tonight?"

"It would be my pleasure, Sasha." Maxim wrote a note that a bath would be drawn and champagne chilled for their return and that his staff on alert, as Alex needed to fully rest. Maxim also would relish the change from full alert to as safe as his life got.

…..

Andrei Bugayev had been alerted to the arrival of Alex Rider to the Kremlin. The child operative burned by MI6 and the CIA and reduced to a hired killer and whore to a rich thug. The child that had saved Russia from dictatorship under the insane Alexei Sarov. In 2001, the FSB had handed the fourteen year old back to his MI6 handlers and let him be used and then forgotten.

Tall, handsome, the visage of perfection only spoiled by a pronounced limp, the bodyguard was on high alert as they entered the most secure building in Russia. The cars passing through the Kremlin Walls into high security, the reception was invitation only tonight. Alex was expecting a shake down as Maxim passed through without incident. The guard looked at the x-rays and medical notes as Andrei moved forward to shake Alex Rider's hand.

"Good to see you, Alex." The man smiled. "I hope you like living in Russia."

"It has its moments. I know more about oil exploration thats for sure." Alex quipped.

"I will escort you through, considering the extensive titanium in your legs and chest."

"Most people don't know about the damage from the sniper. Your should frisk me anyway." The pat down was a mere show, Alex was glad it was not a thorough search though. Maxim was waiting, chatting to a middle aged woman as she collected her purse.

"Maxim, this is Andrei Bugayev, the spook who took pity on me after General Sarov's death." Alex stepped back into his role as protection and let the big boys play.

"An honour and a pleasure, General. You are a busy man considering the threats from Chechnya and Islamic Extremists." Maxim knew this man by reputation and Sasha's friendship with him may be one to exploit.

"You picked probably the most talented operative of his generation to be your bodyguard. You should look after him well, as his pervious handlers were shockingly negligent. Now I must go say hello to my American colleagues. I will introduce you to Ms. Mentz personally." Andrei was going to use this opportunity to show that stuck up bitch not to play games in Russia and that she had made powerful enemies already.

Alex stood as the American diplomats were introduced to Maxim and then as an afterthought Andrei added "Oh, your excellency, ladies and gentlemen, please meet Mr. Alexander Rider, personal security for Maxim."

The senior diplomat had been briefed about this young freelance and possible security breach, on reading the man's full file he found out that as teenager he had saved Europe and America. "Its an honour to meet you, Alex. Misinformation has painted quite a poor picture of you but being a bodyguard is an honourable profession."

Alex smiled but his eyes strayed to the CIA agent whom Maxim was now sweet talking. Maxim really put on the charm when he was at his most dangerous. "I have very special duties as close personal protection detail. Maxim has an extensive security set up, I enjoy training and be part of a well oiled machine."

With that brief exchange Andrei moved on, as did Maxim as the man networked with politicians, business partners and business rivals.

Later, Alex was throughly bored by hours of being ignored. He had noted which of the staff lingered and was sure they were FSB, keeping tabs on the foreigners. Maxim was in deep discussion with the Prime Minister of the Russian Federation, so surrounded by the Presidential bodyguard.

Andrei brought over a bottle of water for the former child soldier. "Being polite and smiling is thirsty business. I think your boss is planning to ruin Ms. Mentz's planned rise to station chief. Maxim has learned to be very subtle when destroying those who cross him. It seems he cares for you to take out your enemies as well."

"He's an excellent boss." Alex said honestly as he twisted off the cap and took a deep drink.

"Very diplomatic, Alex. I feel I should offer you a way out of that onerous contract."

"What do you care? Spying and prostitution are two sides of the same coin. If you want to rescue me, well you are about six years too late for that. He's a good lover. I can't complain."

Andrei sighed, this twenty-one year old should be partying, travelling and enjoying life. Even here, he could see Alex was on high alert for assailants. "My door is open, I remember your bravery and courage, Alex. Maxim is cold, he cannot offer you love."

"Money, safety and security is all I can hope for. Don't worry, I have plans for the future. My friend Dave found happiness running a coffee shop after his years of hard time. Next time you see Mrs. Jones or John Crawley remind them that I have found honour among thieves."

Andrey ended his night talking with his counterpart in counter-espionage. "It would be wise for Ms. Mentz to return home, not that that will protect her. I fear Alex told his boss the precise details of that bitch's mismanagement and its consequences. I fear that she won't like Maxim at all when he starts to play games with her."

…..

Alex was sat up in bed watching the dawn through the thin muslin drapes. He noted Maxim was awake. "You asked me if I wanted anything from you, considering we are lovers more than work partners. I had a fucked up childhood, anything I really liked or wanted, my uncle stopped. I had a lovely nanny when I was four and I asked Ian to marry her so she could be my mummy. She left that day. I made friends then we moved and I wasn't allowed to keep in touch. I never let on I liked Jack to Ian, so she got to stay. When I was thirteen, I excelled at football, got offered an apprenticeship at Chelsea. That was refused as it would interfere with Karate and our holidays. Wasn't even allowed to play for London under sixteens. I like that you get me. You're fine with me never saying much. Well, you read my operations files so know the gruesome details. I would like some time off at Christmas, for the chance to visit my friends in London; but I will sign on for another year, if you want me." That was as close as he was going to admit that this was good, that Maxim was his ideal companion. He was never ever going to admit to love. His lover in purely a sexual sense, yes; but the man would use any admission of feelings as a weapon. Even after seven years, Alex could not fathom why Yassen had told him he loved him.

The older man sat up and moved to kiss his beautiful Sasha, slowly and passionately. His hands moving to stroke the buckled burned flesh on the younger man's back. Scars that matched burns on Maxim's left arm.

….

Joe Byrne had been retired after Cairo and disappeared into obscurity. He still had a few contacts in the business. A contact with the Israelis and the internal security officer in Murmansk, who had risen to the rank of Department Head, had kept track of him.

As Joe jogged along the dirt road in rural Indiana, he noted he had post. The letter contained photos from security surveillance. 'Joe, Alex is living and working in Russia. Bitch to Maxim Belkov. What happened to the bright resourceful boy? He's lost everything on the way, including himself. I'm worried that he's psychologically dependant on that thug. I promise to watch over him. Alex called out his beef with Mentz. Her days are numbered. Andrei.'

Joe shrugged and would sit on this info. Mentz could lie down in the bed she had made.

…..

Internal Security at CIA Headquarters noted unusual activity in the account of one of their agents in Moscow. A payment of $20,000 from an account in the Cayman Islands. He followed the money trail and it led to the Bank National in Bogota. Veronica Mentz had been seconded to the DEA eighteen months ago. He flagged this up for a follow up.


	7. Chapter 7

Alex decided not to fly direct to Britain, but spent two days in Paris first. Being a tourist was unreal after 12 months of life in a very protected bubble when everything was provided and he was working to another's schedule. Only now, he could afford to shop. He bought casual clothes and a few presents. He had phoned ahead and both the Pleasures and Dave and Henry were glad to see him. On the 29th, he was flying to Dubai to join Maxim, who was spending New Year on holiday at a very exclusive hotel. He felt like he was walking on air, when he got the tube from St. Pancras to Chiswick Park. It was like he was back being a kid without a care in the world. We walked with his suit bag and pull along suitcase north to Edward and Liz's suburban home, so different from the house in San Francisco. Two nights here then spending two nights with Dave and Henry. Sabina had texted sporadically, grumbling about working and her hopeless attempts at dating.

The Edwardian Villa in a terrace of similar properties dating from the Railway Boom of the late 19th century. Alex had previously been over for dinner four times, this would be his first overnight stay. He wondered if they would recognise him. No longer underweight, after a year he was buffed, at the peak of physical fitness, toned muscle from daily swims and four weeks of cross country skiing and biathlon competitions at home, as the Tulikov Estate now was. The Londoner had full residency in Russia and was contemplating buying a home in Moscow, one to rent out while he worked.

He rang the door bell and Sabina opened the door. She mouth opened in shock as she saw a tall tanned man dressed in Armani stood on the doorstep. "Alex?"

"Hello Sabina, you look fab as always." Alex smiled as she blushed. "Gonna let me in, sis?"

The door opened wide and he was beaconed into the narrow hall. Once the door was closed Sabina wrapped her old friend and foster brother in a hug. "I hate you working in deepest darkest Siberia. I can't drop in for coffee and annoy you."

"Why don't I make you a coffee and you can fill me in on all I've missed."

There was a small Italian coffee machine in the kitchen, a gift from Alex last year. He found beans in the cupboard and fell back into his role as barista. Two cups of flat white were placed on the counter as Sabina complained of working freelance, the sparsity of decent dates and how Liz was working nights over Christmas, so Edward had decided to scrap Christmas dinner until the 28th, and they would be eating sandwiches and party food from M&S. Since Alex dislike roast turkey and stuffing, this was welcome surprise. He bet that Henry would cook the full monty anyway for him on the 27th. He put three presents under the tree as Sabina started playing music to Alex, expanding his poor knowledge of anything other than ballet and opera music. He only knew those because of Maxim and his occasional visits to the Mariinsky and the Novosibirsk theatres.

Edward came downstairs to tell his daughter to turn down the noise and he noticed Alex. "Good to see you, son or should I call you Sasha, now you are practically Russian."

Alex smiled and recited a short passage from Father and Son by Turgenev in Russian. "As you can see my fluency and accent has improved. I have read a lot while Maxim was in meetings. Being a bodyguard can be extremely boring. So, you may call me Sasha, as Maxim calls me that."

"Liz will be home at nine, she's at a friends book club meeting. She will be pleased about your new love of literature."

Alex smiled nervously remembering his culture shock on arrival. "The Estate had a fairly decent library of Russian Classics. I'm glad I took a Russian English dictionary, my vocabulary has improved immensely. I only bought magazines three times. There were papers delivered every day Izvestia and Pravda, The Times and International Tribune. I really wanted for nothing. The guys, the other bodyguards and security have been great to train with, but I've made no close friends. Ivan, he's the friendliest of the bunch."

"But you are sleeping with you boss." Edward said when Sabina had gone to pick up the takeaway ordered for supper.

"Considering how much I was dreading that aspect of the contract, its been wonderful., really. He's kind, considerate and amazing in bed. So, a perk of the job. I think Maxim has been equally surprised how well its worked out. He has never had a long term lover before. Not that assume its anything more than it is. I'm an escort. I find a like it." Alex could do nothing to explain to his sort of father that it was fine. "Lots of people are sex workers, Edward. Its an age old profession, just not an honourable one. I guess you left that bit out when you told Liz and Sabina what I do for a living."

Edward looked truly uncomfortable. "I went to speak to your friend, Loony Dave about it. He's not exactly happy about your work either. I would like for you to tell Liz and Sabina, I think its your tale to tell. I also understand why you only told me."

"I've told you lots of stuff you did not tell the ladies. Have you finished your book on that Shithead Psycho."

"Yes. Its with the editors. Hardest book I ever had to write."

"Well, I hope my journal was helpful."

"That formed the backbone of the book. I got Danny's full cooperation as well. He's fifteen now and said he found sharing his own journal liberating. He wants to meet you."

"Not this year, nor next year either. I'll email him via his mom. So, the good news is I've signed another twelve month contract. The nondisclosure agreement means I cannot tell you anything about how boring oil and gas exploration is."

"Boring huh?"

"You have no idea. Maxim sometimes plays along and starts telling me bad jokes in French or passes comments in his awful pigeon Japanese, but most of the time its just business, business, business. Its not as if there's anything to look at apart from trees and flat green either. Went elf hunting once with the local inuits. Their shaman told Maxim I was an old soul." Alex was sure that old man had shared a great deal more about his observations of the outsider.

…

A taxi was booked for 1:30PM, Alex finally sat down with Liz and Sabina to tell them the full extent of his employment details.

"There's a reason I refused your offer of a blind date. Maxim and I are sleeping together." Alex decided to be blunt about his sex life.

"Your boss… the billionaire? Are you happy? Please tell me you dated and it's not a classic rebound relationship, you need to consider the fact you had just dumped Robert and disappeared off to Russia." Liz looked worried over the implications as sleeping with your boss was normally a recipe for disaster.

"Its not dating. Its part of my contract of employment. I'm more entertainment than bodyguard actually." Alex said with a blank face.

"Oh, Alex… you agreed to this?"

"Its well paid. I'm no longer short of cash. With bonuses, I got just over half a million pounds. The bonuses were for security work, not fucking. I consider the sex a perk actually." Alex tried to gauge the shocked expressions on the two women's faces.

Liz then looked angry "You told Edward before you went last year, didn't you. Please tell me he tried to dissuade you from this.…"

Alex guessed his former foster mother was trying to find a polite word for being a glorified rent boy, "Prostitution? I get I'm a sex worker, Liz. I'm actually OK with it. One guy, no chance of getting hurt or of getting infected. Its mutually inclusive. If he wasn't paying me, you'd be fine with us fucking, don't lie about that small detail. Look just watch Pretty Woman a couple of times and my life is just like that apart from the happy ever after bit. Maxim isn't the type to get all emotional and suddenly have a epiphany about love, saving the whale or tree hugging. Nothing about my life has a Disney style ending." Alex wasn't about to tell anyone exactly how much of a bastard Maxim was to people who crossed him. Brutal, sadistic and unflinching in his need for control. Yep, exactly Alex's type.

Sabina took a deep breath. "This is not OK, Alex. In fact, its crazy. Its just you look so happy, adjusted and fit. I … I don't get it, but then again, I never really got what was going on with you. How does your therapist view your new profession?"

"Well, since my therapist is employed by Maxim, as is my doctor, dentist and physio, he's fine with my mental well being. I had a bit of a blip over the guy in Surgut, but then most people aren't fine after popping a guy. I'm paid to keep my boss safe first and foremost." Alex was glad they seemed to be sort of OK with his work, not happy but not get out of my life unhappy either.

Liz then made herself busy by cleaning the table "You are an adult. If this is the reason you are happy, well adjusted and you're fine with it. Then, its OK. Just remember we're here if you need us."

Sabina was in two minds. She had never been OK with Alex's abrupt ex-communication after his abduction, but she was damn sure Alex was lying to himself about being OK with this Maxim. Her mind was screaming 'Don't fall in love, he'll hurt you' but that was probably too late. Alex did not understand love on any level, if he had he'd still be with Rob. "Did you just leave or did you actually break up with Rob properly?"

Alex smiled "I spoke to Rob when I was in Japan." When he'd been sure of untapped phones and bought a burner phone just for that one conversation. "I told him that I was sorry that I freaked about his brother, but James was too close to my past. It was better I made a clean break, no chance of anyone getting hurt because he would have been. Fact of my life is that I find a bit of happiness and normal and it all goes to fuck. It was good, he helped me heal, but I'm twenty-one. Maybe, I'll settle down someday with a great bloke, but Rob was wanting something I could not give. Stability and normal is not my thing."

"You won't be upset that he's moved in with an actor then." Sabina said pushing to see of Alex was really over his ex and their messy break-up.

"Hal Montague. I know. They look good together." Alex suddenly felt the need to explain exactly why the relationship had not worked, that there had been trouble in paradise before Wolf turned up. "Rob did not like my scars. Just like I only let him do certain things. My back… he never touched the burns. Maxim kisses my scars, strokes them, reveres all of me. No hang ups. I've opened up to my current lover much more than I ever did with Rob. It was going to fail, it just crashed and burned dramatically rather than the normal pace of you're not quite right."

Sabina smiled "Thanks for being honest, but next time trust me. I get you ain't normal. How can you be, you're Alex Rider. You saved the world while the rest of us were worrying about spots and being popular."


	8. Chapter 8

Maxim Belkov had at a young age decided to improve himself, he worked hard, paid attention to little details and observed all around him, to carefully plan and to always win. His destiny at sixteen had been to live and die an unskilled site worker at the oil depot in Irkutsk, like his father had. By 25 he had worked his way up to be the depot manager and with Glasnost, he had used his inside knowledge to rise from manager to owner and from there he planned, cheated and was ruthless in removing all rivals; in the process expanding into exploration, extraction, transportation and refineries. In twenty years he had risen from ruble millionaire to hard currency billionaire.

He had made many enemies over the years, destroyed his rivals to leave their families destitute, without any empathy for their situation as he had risen from extreme poverty. He had death threats both from personal vendettas, hard core environmentalists, from governments, political opposition and business rivals.

He had discovered in his teens he had no attraction to females. By thirty, he regularly paid for sex with a string of forgettable young men, not one partner asked to return or considered memorable beyond his own orgasm. He had previously never crossed his need for sex with permanent companionship. The last would be assassin, who had posed as a young escort, had come within inches of poisoning him, but on questioning had been unaware of the identity of his employer, only interested in the contract for one million US dollars for Belkov's death. A large enough sum to entice his own security to turn against him, hence his need for hiring a personal body guard. He had never expected to hire the Alex Rider, the MI6 turned SCORPIA assassin. It had been Ivan who had suggested a very personal aspect for his close protection detail. Now he employed the young man who had destroyed the ambitions of Nicolai Drevin. That man's downfall had seen his own rise from rich to immensely wealthy.

The enigmatic Alex Rider, his Sasha, was different.

Here he was nearing fifty and he was besotted. The ten day holiday taken by his lover had been akin to cold turkey. He had never empathised with any partner before. Young Alexander had lived a hard life and was used to making hard decisions, also convinced that as an individual you made your own choices to be a survivor, to thrive and to be successful. Never considering happiness or love as achievable goals. Maxim's whole attitude to sex had also changed over the last year, from his initial reading of Rider's files; he had tailored his interaction to consider the needs and wants of this fellow survivor. He had planned a careful seduction taking full consideration of the rapes in Alex's past, a novel approach as he balanced his own pleasure with his partners. The few occasions they had switched, Alex had mirrored this approach in making sex more than fucking. He had once laughed at the concept of making love, but with his Sasha he was truly a lover not just a moments of unattached pleasure. Maxim knew exactly how his lover responded to certain touches, knew exactly what he wanted and needed if he requested seduction. They had enjoyed plenty of dirty blow jobs and quick fucks during working hours, in offices, cupboards and in toilets. Such encounters thrilling and novel as before Maxim had been careful to not mix his perversion with business. Most viewed Alex as just staff and part of the background. His more astute business associates knew Alex was equally entertainment and paid killer. The young man even with his serious leg impediment could out class all others on his security team, even those with twenty years in the business. For that alone Alex could ask a 50 per cent pay rise and be worth every penny.

Alex arrived at Dubai and Ivan was waiting with a driver. Unlike last year, today he was wired with nervous energy, anticipating his reunion with Maxim. Only he was not returning to work but for Maxim's holiday, four days of relaxation before a meeting of world oil producers to discuss targets for exploration and quantities. His boss one of the main players in Russia, controlling a large proportion of Siberian Gas and Oil.

The suite was like a vision of a Sultan's palace in its opulent decor. Alex had no pretentious need for such luxury, but Maxim had an image to fulfil. Ivan stopped in the main room and smiled, "he has been unbearable for the last ten days, I guess he missed you."

Ivan had been Maxim's security coordinator for nearly twenty years and was as close a personal friend as the billionaire had. His boss was even friends with his wife, Nadiya and godfather to his his two sons, both attending the military school. The former Spetnaz Instructor found he liked this twenty one year old professional, as Rider was a talented addition to the team, even of he was only a loose affiliate, due to their boss keeping the most dangerous man on the staff very close to him. The spy had upgraded training to increase efficiency and to always anticipate worst case scenarios. Alex was perfectly comfortable with his strange position, most on the security force were at a loss regarding the fact the young man was the passive homosexual lover of their boss, most just accepted it. A couple of the younger ones expressed outright bigotry, such hatred only made Rider smile.

There were two guards by the private elevator and four more in the suite as Alex was shown through. Ivan had mentioned no threats, Maxim was making all know he was serious about his personal safety. No wonder Ivan had called his boss unbearable, as all would be working double shifts to keep this cover around 24/7. Now, with his arrival the routine would relax back to normal and all would be able to get some time off and to sleep a full 8 hours as well.

Alex walked into the private living area of the suite, the grey haired oil magnate may be on holiday but he was on the phone talking to the Manager of the Surgut Exploration Team in terse terms of geological probabilities versus geophysical survey results and the big question of predicting production figures. A test rig was likely considering the need for supply the expanding markets in the third world.

The bodyguard stood and waited until Maxim put his phone down before approaching to kiss his lover in greeting. Alex politely thanked his boss for his time off, "I am so grateful to you for my break, but the surveillance was not necessary. Please do not bug the Pleasures's home in future. If you want a full recording of all conversations I'll record them myself. I'm sure you found the conversation with my foster mother and sister about sleeping with you most enlightening."

Maxim just shrugged as the team was there for security foremost, not snooping. "I never told my mother about my inclinations, I assumed you were also preferred to keep your perversion secret."

Alex smiled "We lived in San Francisco; Gay capital of the world. Edward and Liz are both right on, socialist liberals. Sabina was the first person to get I was less than straight after she tested the waters and kissed me when I was fourteen. Sure girls are fine, but dangerous men, men like you, get me hot and bothered."

Maxim's cold demeanour cracked and he smiled like a predator who had cornered his prey, "You think I'm dangerous?"

"I thought that the first time I met you. You could kill me without a second thought, torture me if you thought I had a hidden agenda and if I crossed you, you would most likely kill everyone I loved. You are the bogeyman, my nemesis and I get hard thinking about it." He emphasised the fact by palming his erection before driving the fact home. "Want to see your Christmas present, I'm testing it out now." Alex smiled seductively and mock whispered "Henry had a few suggestions for sex toys. So, I've travelled for six hours filled by a butt plug, ready and waiting for you to prove that cock is way better than plastic. Need you Max. Need you to fuck me. To show me my place. I'm yours, Max. You own me."

…..

It had been dinner and breakfast in bed. Midmorning and Alex was snoring in bed, laid on his stomach after their last round of exquisite and enthusiastic sex. Maxim was drawn back to work and was going through his correspondence. Thankfully, all just routine enquiries, copies of company emails, but nothing urgent and no emergencies. There was an email from Alex's foster mother. He smiled at the polite introduction of this woman who thought of Alex as her prodigal son. ' _Please do not hurt him. He has been hurt so much in the past._ ' No threats from this woman, underlying she had guessed their relationship was deeper than a mere contractual arrangement, even if neither party stated otherwise, not wanting to jinx the unexpected relationship. The younger man, was an escort, a position underlining that he had no interest in Maxim's money nor his business interests. Maxim, as employer, paid for his lover's company so there was no reason for his enemies to use Alex as a means to threaten or hurt him. Maxim knew that two of his bodyguards were FSB agents there to keep an eye on Alex, rather than his employer. He archived the email under personal and confidential. He would not reply and wondered if he was not the only one listening in while Alex stayed with the Pleasures.

…

Ben Daniels hated medicals, retraining and psychological assessments. Back in Brecon, not as SAS but as an above board government spook. He stood in line for rations as the food could not be called anything more than calories, a million miles from either home cooking or haute cuisine. The slop of meat stew, various overcooked veg, sliced bread and the same slop of bright yellow thick and lumpy custard disguising the blob of pudding. Seventeen miles from the nearest pub and any hope of decent grub. The MI6 agent sighed as he moved to sit on a vacant table. He had mixed his main course into a homogenous pile, a trick learned when he joined the Army, when he was joined by his former team mate, Wolf.

"Evening, Fox. You put in a decent time on the assault course, feel like rejoining the grunts?"

"Nice of you to ask, but I'm transferring to MI5." He was glad to turn his back on Special Operations and now be in the position of gamekeeper not poacher. He ate in silence with his old friend before asking "How's your brother?"

"Fine, working in New York." Robert had gotten a card and present from Alex and had moaned he had no forwarding address to reciprocate. "Got any news on Cub?"

Talking of their one time team mate, Fox was brutally honest. "Still whoring himself out to that Russian for big bucks. Our contact in the FSB states Alex is no threat to them or us. The MI6 shrink thinks Alex is still in denial, using the situation to shield himself from real relationships and the possibility of getting hurt. Its a house of cards and Alex is going to break again. Self harm and suicide are almost a certainty."

The dower and grim soldier nodded in agreement "That's what Robert's friend at the crisis centre told him. I wish there was a way just to tell Alex that he's making a mistake."

"He's an adult. For the money he's earning, by next year he'll be able to do what the hell he likes. No one is taking that contract on Belkov up, not with his security set up. Risk is too high. Cub shot the last bastard in the face without a flicker of nerves." The man who had read all of Alex's top secret file knew the kid he had known had grown up to be an assassin, just like SCORPIA trained him to be. The rapes had resulted in full disassociation for the broken teenager. If Blenkov found out who had placed the contract on him, then Alex would earn a handsome bonus by liquidating that particular threat. The Russian had a deadly predator at his beck and call. The FSB's threat assessment of Alex was strangely dismissive, unless they knew already who wanted the oil magnet dead and that assassination served their own agenda. No one was interested in Ben's assessment that the FSB was pulling Alex's strings now.

…..

Alex put on the casual clothes and smirked to himself over today's itinerary of golf with several wealthy contacts also staying at this exclusive resort over the New Year. Maxim played only as an exercise in networking. It was eleven years since he had last played a round, another activity on his uncle's 'things a spy needed to know' list.


	9. Chapter 9

Dieter Sprintz was far too controlled to let his emotions play on his face for all to see. He was tempted to sneer at the Russian's deadly plaything, who had arrived to play golf. The tall and handsome man was rumoured to be an assassin, as the German financier had heard his own security speak of this killer who was paid to warm the paranoid oil magnates bed. The Russian was flaunting rules of polite society. Ignoring such a distasteful display, Dieter would enjoy playing the eighteen holes with his son and despite the additional player.

The eerie silence between the players gathered was disturbed by the arrival of a skinny young man with a shock of dark hair and slightly dishevelled clothes.

Alex smiled strangely and Maxim was on alert, "Is there a threat?" The Russian queried.

The bodyguard shook his head and widened his smile "No. No threats. Just, ghosts. I went to school with James Sprintz, for a few weeks several lifetimes ago when I was pretending to be the dangerously disturbed son of David Friend. Ahh, unhappy memories."

Another friendship he'd not been allowed to keep up due to national security concerns. He'd been a foolish fourteen year old and had learned the hard lesson the next year that MI6 had destroyed his thin grasp at normal.

James Sprintz mumbled an apology for both his tardiness and his abrupt entrance. Only his father was glaring daggers at the Russian, they had had dinner with two nights ago. "What's up, Dad? Who's Maxim's friend?"

Dieter then realised he'd been rudely staring and was suddenly glad that the Russian had his entertainment, so the man would not be so friendly with James. "It's nothing. Just a small disagreement over etiquette."

James smiled at their companions and as they were obviously a couple, but only if you were politely describing the uber-rich older man and his toy boy like a normal relationship, which was a more apt description. "Just cause you don't have a twenty year old supermodel hanging on your every word, you could but well, been there and done that with mum." James loved and hated both his parents for their continued bitter rivalry. His dad doted on him and his mum hated the fact their child had supplanted her in Dieter's affections.

"Be wary of that young man, first and foremost he is a paid killer." Dieter said softly in German.

James then could not help but appraise the assassin and the blond guy waved and smiled. He looked very familiar.

The group was split into three, four players in each group. The club secretary was cheerful optimistic on his skills assessing comparable groups and stated "you know Mr. Belkov, Mr. Sprintz. Let me introduced his friend, Alex Rider. Dieter Sprintz and his son James. Alex and James are the same age so should get along famously."

Alex smiled and shook hands with Dieter Sprintz, bowing his head in respect as well. "An honour to meet you, sir." The older German had closed off body language, with no offer of any polite greetings. There was a handshake from Dieter's son, who had obviously recognised his former school friend "Good to see you again, James. Sorry I didn't keep in touch after Grenoble, but my handlers thought me having no friends was for the best."

That statement got the German billionaire's full attention, as he then knew the identity and skills of the escort, "So, you were the British teen spy at Point Blanc. I take it you are freelance now."

"Got burned by MI6 in 2002 after a complete fuck up in Cairo. The puppet master Blunt got the heave ho then as well." Alex could see dismay and disgust in the German's eyes be replaced with shock and horror. Alex smiled widely and cheerfully stated "let's go hit some balls."

Maxim was a master of small talk, polite inoffensive nonsense between the two businessmen. No crass wagers, just the slight rivalry over par and the actual game.

It was after tee off on the fourth hole that James Sprintz found his voice. "What gives? Dad wanted to offer you a reward, enough to fund school and university and it was like you had disappeared. Even David Friend had no idea who you really were."

"Well, I had a spot of bother with several more placements curtesy of MI6 and the CIA, then I ran away. Eventually got fostered by Edward Pleasure and his wife, but that was complete chaos and I ended up with a smashed leg."

"Car Accident?" James asked wondering on the limp.

As James drove across the green, Alex smiled "Sledge Hammer, actually. I had major reconstructive surgery and finished high school, while in a children's home as a result of that. MI6 pulled my inheritance, so I now have to work for my living. I can't do regular bodyguard work so I'm all round entrainment instead. Quite like my life of luxury with Maxim."

James could read between the lines and pondered his friend's complete ease with being a high class whore. "Do you need money or a place to stay?"

Alex laughed "I get paid very well and I'm on a 12 month contract. If Maxim offers, I'll renew again. This is as close to good as life gets, considering my abysmal luck. Don't try to help. I learned at 14 that I'm not allowed friends. I only stay in touch with Edward because he's got the dirt on me. You should read his book Monster in Suburbia. Chapter Seven describes the sledgehammer incident in detail."

At that small talk resumed.

…

Later that evening there was a heated discussion of Alex by the Sprintz's.

"Come off it, Dad! Surely we can do something?" James whined. "He was my friend, my hero. He saved us both."

"I know. Maxim assured me that Alex is happy and that his friends in London are well aware of his chosen profession. These type people have different morals to us." Dieter was sure that his son's one time friend had no morals at all and would grace the bed of whoever paid him and kill anyone who stood in his way considering his friends in London were the Mob. "Mika got hold of a copy of that book for you." Dieter knew Edward Pleasure by reputation. The journalist had won the Sunday Times non-fiction book prize for his last publication. The acknowledgements stated for 'Alex and Daniel'. Dieter knew it was wise not to make an enemy of a man like Maxim Belkov.

…

Alex was swimming laps in the hotel pool the next morning, when the skinny pale form of James Sprintz tried and failed to match his pace.

He got out and his old school friend joined him, but had the look of pity on his face. An expression Alex loathed. "I am fine, more than fine Jamie. Those events are in the past."

"Your Jack was killed in Cairo. You were offered family and instead got pain and humiliation."

Alex stood and smiled coldly "I was meant to have 24/7 protection. The bitch that fucked that up was arrested for treason. Edward thinks she was a mole for SCORPIA and responsible for several deaths. I was lucky I survived. I am good at that, surviving. If you want to help someone, start working for UNICEF or MSF. Me, I'm a lost cause. Get close and get hurt."

…

Maxim noted Alex's poor mood at breakfast. "Your friend James thinks you need rescuing. He is a privileged rich boy who cannot grasp the less than picture perfect realities of those not born into extreme wealth."

Alex was not really angry about the misplaced pity and misguided charity, at fifteen he would have loved being accepted into the protection of the Sprintz household. "I need and want you, Maxim. You and me; we match. James, he never knew the real me. Just the boy pretending to be his friend. I was trained to fit in." In his nightmares and during low moments Alex sometimes wondered if his attraction to Max and being comfortable with him was just a result of his training. Uncle Ian would be so proud, not. Christ, that bastard had wanted Alex to grow to be Alan Blunt. Thank Fuck he had escaped MI6's clutches. "I'm sorry if I caused you problems with your friend, Dieter."

"Friend? No. You and I, we don't have friends. If we did they would be used to destroy us."

Alex then stopped pretending to eat and moved around the table to kneel in front of Maxim looking up at the centre of his fucked up existence and reaffirmed his position in the world as he carefully unbuttoning and lowered the fly on his owner's trousers with the intention of sucking him off. Maxim hardening with anticipation.

…

Alex decided not to be a complete ass. He phoned James to clear the air. A call guaranteed to be recorded and listened to by Dieter and his own security team. " , I wanted to apologise to you, for my abrupt words this morning. You must understand I have made my bed and I am lying in it. Its a very comfortable existence being a wealthy man's bedwarmer."

"I guess, I can't imagine being in your shoes. I have been so lucky and truth is I still owe you my life and happiness. Just remember that if you need a favour, I'm there for you. The other guys owe you too. I hope you stay comfortable with your rich employer. See you around, since we will meet again here or in New York or Monaco. Maybe even Dusseldorf."

James knew his father had arranged to meet Edward Pleasure to air his concerns about Alex Rider, regarding the dangerous young man too proud to accept help from friends, but damaged enough to think whoring himself out was acceptable.

….

The FBI investigator was getting tired of the accused annoying holier than thou attitude to her past misconduct. "Who are your contacts? Who paid you off? We know you are double dealing, just come clean and we can broker a deal . If you continue with this innocence bullshit, you'll be in isolation in a supermax for life."

The former CIA handler on fast track to department head, was now trying to keep a cool head and talk her way out of this mess. "Its a frame up. I didn't do anything wrong in Columbia. I've been completely open about everything. It has to be the Russians. Aranovsky told me to leave and watch my back. The guy pulling Rider's leash, he's behind this. Hell, Rider told his BFF Byrne that he'd kill me if he ever saw me again."

"That was a statement made by a distraught and broken fifteen year old who had been kidnapped, tortured and raped because of your mismanagement. If it was me I'm sure I'd express exactly the same sentiments. Luckily for you we checked out Mr. Rider's finances and those of his foster parents. Sorry but we can't do the same for Belkov. Most of Rider's money is in bonds in a Swiss bank account, his liquid assess amount to under £10,000 with no transactions over £800 in the last year, so why do you think his employer would try and discredit you, he's an oil magnate not a spook, plus Rider is paid to fuck him, not a real relationship just a contractual one." Then guy shrugged at this, as he had read the latest psyche profile on Rider, the poor kid was using his body to earn his keep as he could not work as a normal bodyguard considering his disability and he had walked away from MI6 who controlled his uncles trust fund.

Veronica Mentz had also looked up Rider's file after meeting him in Moscow and had felt a brief pang of guilt over his misfortunes. It was not her fault that bitch Jones had withheld his trust. The guy was seriously maladjusted, even before the incident with that psycho Brennan. She had made the right choice considering the pressure of budgetary requirements, the tribunal had exonerated her of the blame, it wasn't as if SCORPIA were behind his kidnapping, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There had been no incidents during Rider's time in hospital and at that children's home. Now a paltry amount of cash was bringing her down.

…..

The snow was not stopping, the blizzard had them all stuck in the middle of the West Siberian Oil field waiting for the storm to abate and be helicoptered back to civilisation. Alex was laid on a bunk in the oil workers annex reading a borrowed badly written detective novel and he had already guessed the who, what and why. Maybe he should become a cop, that was something to look into, unlikely to happen since MI6 had not expunged his two arrests from his record. Criminal damage, vandalism, arson, assault and attempted murder were all there in black and white.

The alarm on his watch signalled it was midnight in London on the Wednesday 13th February, he was twenty-two. Like the past seven years, the event meant nothing. Any post sent by his few friends was over several hundred miles away. He should get up and shower. A breakfast of tea, kasha and cheese rolls was waiting in the darkness of this early hour.

He sat and listened to the news from Moscow as Ivan produced a small packaged cake and started to sing a really bad rendition of happy birthday. Strange here, he had something akin to family.

Alex sighed as everyone stared, silent, with no-one clapping or anyone else offering congratulations. Thank god, there wasn't any pretence of a celebration. He mused on his last proper birthday celebration, one he now told Ivan about. "The children's home in California tried to throw me a birthday party when I turned 18, you know the clique of a surprise party. I had a huge panic attack, full hyperventilation, vomiting and screaming. It was the most embarrassing thing ever. Please tell me this cake is it."

"Maybe drinks when we get back home, but I think Kolya has saved you a chocolate bar." Ivan shrugged then reached over to eat the untouched cake. "Sorry I forgot, you don't like chocolate very much."


	10. Chapter 10

Paul Drevin stood and looked out at the Manhattan skyline from the private dining room at the Rockefeller Centre, where he was attending a charity lunch hosted by Paul Roscoe. He wondered on his invitation, as the Drevin name no longer opened doors. The ArkAngel Project and his father's links with terrorists, not to mention his own botched kidnapping, had been a wake up call to the sheltered and often ill only son of the then billionaire. Now twenty-one, he was at MIT studying Computer Science and personally interested in Robotics for use in extreme environments, but looking at becoming a lawyer rather than a space engineer. He was no larger than life business entrepreneur. The bulk of money he inherited, was in trust until he was 25 and then he would give the tainted legacy away to charity. He had made peace with his past and often wondered at what point had his father gone insane.

The other attendees were thinning out and Paul Roscoe came over to network with his specially invited guest. "I'd like to introduce you to some school friends of mine, one wasn't able to attend, our mutual friend Alex Rider. He had work commitments in Siberia."

Paul had not been back to Russia in years and wondered why his one time friend was there. "Is he still working for the CIA?"

The tall blond billionaire grimaced "No. I have a present for you, best to read the relevant pages, which are marked. Then you understand what happened to Alex, before we shatter your illusions about spy boy."

Paul remembered the Brennan abductions on the news when he was at High School. The guy who had torturing and raping the son of a politician and the foster son of the English reporter, the author of this book. The description of Alex was beautifully detailed and accurate considering he had known his tarnished hero for less than a month. Dear God, even when he tried to hate Alex, he found he could not, as his former friend had been forced by the CIA into working for them. The American son of the Russian billionaire felt no empathy for his father's secretary, the real CIA spy who had manipulated Alex and forced him onto the Space Station to stop the bomb falling on Washington. Alex was always the hero and his father the villain.

The slight, pale dark haired man could not help but feel awful as he read the grim details of Alex's abduction and its aftermath with the long rehabilitation of his smashed leg and therapy to get over the deep psychological damage, mistrust and acceptance of his own sexuality. Alex was gay, a revelation brought a smile to Paul's face, as he mused on his own long buried feelings on his blond crush.

By the bar were a group of seven men, all obviously at ease with each other, chatting and joking with easy camaraderie. As a geek, Paul Drevin had only started making friends at college, where most did not care or did not connect him to the Russian Plutocrat.

Without any pretence, Paul introduced his namesake to his brothers in adversity "Guys, this is Paul Drevin. He met Alex in London. So, Introductions, you know me, Cassian, James, Nick , Hugo, Joe and Tom. We are the Point Blanc Alumni, one school you are very lucky not to have gotten an invite to. So, Alex is working for an absolute bastard, you might know him personally, Maxim Belkov."

"Oh, him. As security? Can't be, not with his disability?"

"Escort and personal security." James said quietly. "Getting paid a fortune by his effective master. Said he was happy whoring himself out, those were his words. Has been employed by Belkov for about fifteen months."

Paul did the math, Alex had sold himself to a man with no morals at nineteen.

The son of Dieter Sprintz then pulled out a file of information gathered by detectives in London. "Before that he was affiliated with some less than savoury types in South London. Working for the mob. No conclusive proof, but its highly likely Alex was a rent boy during his initial return to London as he was homeless." The twenty-two year old close friend of Alex put the file down so all could read its contents. "Our hero and saviour was left high and dry by both the CIA and MI6. Alex left state care in California with less than $1000 to his name, a high school certificate, but no real prospect of college or a decent job. Hence driven to whore himself out." With a long drink of perfectly chilled imported spring water, the former close friend of spy boy concluded "We were all busy with our own lives and I fear we're too late to help Alex as he does neither want nor expect anything from anybody. I don't think Alex would accept charity or saving from his profession, considering he as much told me that when we crossed paths in December. Alex is living the life of luxury, as a well kept pet."

Drevin then added "Belkov is not a man to cross. My mother sold off my father's holdings in Russia to him. Not that I blame her, as my father had left us with considerable debts to pay at short notice and the deal meant we kept our non liquid assets intact. That man was charm himself to her and we were in no position to bargain. He liquidated two others interested in the Drevin Holdings, my mother settled out of fear in the end, though the man made no outright threats about my well being, he manipulated the situation like the devil himself."

The meeting formed no plan of action, beyond all promising to contact Alex in the hope he might consider friendship, if nothing else.

….

Alex both loved and hated the harsh winters of his present home. It was the end of March and he was skiing across the estate in the early afternoon. He knew he would ache tomorrow but the sting of the subzero air, was so completely different from his skiing holidays as a child. This was exhilarating. Completely alone in the near silence of perfect white only broken by distant trees. He pushed himself up the slope in freestyle before settling back into nordic style on the flat. He had escaped today to think.

Alex stopped on the next rise, his point for turning back. Pausing to scan the horizon, no habitation, near the estate house for miles except for the staff; the nearest town in the opposite direction 20 kilometres away. The flat open landscape, with sparse copses of trees. He could carry on, keep skiing and freeze to death before midnight, even wearing his superb survival clothes. He closed his eyes and thought of Oxshot woods, his comfort was that he could choose the time and place of his own demise. Happy being completely alone, no longer a hero to anyone. He dictated all contact with his few close friends, More and more, Maxim was enough with his strange possessiveness. Alex's role was completely separate from the general security detail, in fact he had just been assigned his own bodyguards. Maxim had employed four British mercenaries for that task alone. Alex needed to have a serious talk with his employer and this sudden change in priorities. He was just paid entertainment, nothing more. That was the deal, no point changing the goal posts now. He turned and pushed himself downhill, crouching low to gain speed.

Alex arrived back, showered in the gym and overheard one of his new bodyguards getting told off for staying in the warm.

Mark Jacobs looked in disgust at the youngest member of his three man security team. "So, our mark has been outside for 2 hours skiing on his own and what part of full 24/7 surveillance do you not comprehend. You either went with him or put yourself in a position to watch over him. We are all trained snipers. This may be home turf, but that doesn't mean we sit on our arses looking pretty." No, that Rider's job, the bodyguard thought darkly. The retired Master Sergeant in the 2 Para, dare not think what Lt. John Rider would have thought of his only child working as a high class escort and paid killer. Maybe he would be OK with it, if his boy had been companion to some rich bird, but bending over and taking it from a Russian psycho, his former comrade in arms must be spinning in his grave. It was no secret that the Rider's kid was a master assassin on the books to protect Belkov from his ever growing list of enemies. As good looking as his dad, but with no interest in anyone except his master.

Damien Fairweather rubbed the bruises on his side, proof that Rider did not need any protection detail. "The boy toy can look after himself, Sergeant. He sparred with me this morning. I thought he was just a ponce. Three moves and I was on the floor. Whoever he worked for before trained him well."

The older man knew precisely how deadly the 22 year old was. "He was called Cub by the SAS in 2001. You may have scoffed at the rumours about the teen agent handled by MI6. The reality is ten operations in fifteen months for the spooks in London, Washington and Sydney; including going undercover and taking down SCORPIA. Shot in the chest, then some bastard fucked his leg and put him out of action. Last I heard from the bastards at Special Forces Training, was the former wunderkind was being pimped by the Manning's."

"Who?" queried the thirty five year old ex Marine.

Alex then answered that question, "The Manning brothers, they run everything east of Streatham and south of the river and west of Wapping. You may have heard of my mate Looney Dave."

The older mercenary knew that crook's dubious reputation. "As in the Heathrow job?"

"Yeah…. Second biggest robbery in London ever. Most of the bearer bonds were never recovered. He's like my fairy godmother." Dave had been convicted as the getaway driver, only he took his 15 year sentence with a smile and kept his mouth shut about the others involved. Got parole after seven years for good behaviour. "Someone called him a ponce in the Scrubs, that idiot now dribbles all day long and shits into a nappy. All the witnesses say he tripped and fell downstairs. I'd be polite considering if I hear you call Maxim any derogatory names I'll do the same amount of damage to you and you won't live long enough to make it to hospital here". Alex then returned to his room, silently moving along the corridor, his soft footfalls like a cat's, his limp not affecting his stealth.

"Fuck, he's a proper nutter."

"Yeah, keep on his right side and he'll use all those skills to keep us all alive. Two years ago Belkov lost five bodyguards in a car bombing; not one fatality or serious injury since laughing boy there came to work here. The whole set up is top end, the training here is on par with Credenhill. Half the staff here respect Rider, the other half are shit scared of him. His only friend is Ivan, who I bet is FSB."

"What has my life come to? Working to protect a billionaire's boy toy!"

"Yeah, get over it." The ex-army sergeant could almost pity the kid, only he was not a victim, but a survivor tempered by adversity. He had seen the kid with Belkov. It wasn't just master and servant; the pair, both jaded by their hard lives, were lovers. He had no problem protecting the Russian's most prized possession. Rider's dad had a reputation for fucking anything that moved, male and female. He was the best soldier he had ever known. In 1983, he had thought the officers dishonourable discharge had been a put up job. All the facts pointed to the older Rider dying because of MI6's games. He had been asked to pass on info about their former prize. He'd tell them nothing useful. He knew that this was a decent job and he hoped it lasted, considering he was getting paid double his normal rates.

…

Alex dressed like he was about to go night clubbing, not just the usual Wednesday night dinner. Tight soft black leather trousers, no underpants matched with a sheer shirt. He looked the business as he assessed his reflection in the full length mirror. He was aiming to push Max's buttons, and try to persuade him that his paranoia was edging into insanity. First Alex needed to read the files on these mercenaries, just to make sure none of these babysitters were moles.


	11. Chapter 11

Alex winked at Madam Ulyova as she set the table for dinner. The young man poured himself a glass of the sauvignon blanc, the bottle chilling for the first course of chicken parfait and melba toast. He could see the widow eyeing him up and shaking her head at his tight leather clad bottom, muttering about sins of the flesh. He was not planning on getting drunk, as inebriation by either alcohol or drugs was on his list of things not to indulge. The slight buzz and mellow edge of relaxation was as much as he ever achieved. The wine was crisp and dry, an excellent vintage from New Zealand. He normally only sipped the wine on offer and noted the difference in varieties and how they complimented the courses prepared by the two chefs. He had visited the wine cellar and talked to the chef and the housekeeper about wine, not that he had much of a palate. It was good that Maxim preferred simple food, nothing too rich or fancy; but more than mere calories and nutrition. The clock struck seven, Maxim was running late.

He should have written down a list of his concerns, he knew it was his own paranoia clouding the water, not any concrete threat from his lover. Maxim was not into power and control, well not in the bedroom anyway. Alex shuddered thinking about those sorts of games including restraint, pain and submission. No, he too was very on the vanilla side of the fence. He was not like Henry and Dave, who spoke of spicing things up a bit. Communication was the key to solving the reason behind his new babysitters.

Alex had done some serious inlay to the bottle of white wine before his lord and master made an appearance. The Russian shocked at his lover's dress and obvious inebriation.

Dressed like the whore he was, Alex smiled and tried to explain his problem. "You know I'm deeply flawed. I have issues a mile long. I don't talk much. I'm a world champion at bottling things up. So, why the babysitters Max? Have I done something wrong? Is there something bad going to happen? Or are you listening to those voices in your head saying its good so its all going to fuck up spectacularly?"

Max's expression darkened into a deep frown, but he remained silent.

"I get not articulating about emotions and stuff, but look at this from my point of view. I don't react well to incarceration. I don't want my home to become a prison and those bodyguards look awfully like jailers." Alex looked at his lover's hard, closed off body language. Alex decided to quote "Love is freedom and this is not love but possession. I'm yours, Max. You don't need to wrap me up in cotton wool and things would go really bad really quick if you try and chain me to your bed. You know I had fuck all in the way of TLC growing up, so why the guards now?"

The Russian sat down and poured out his own glass of wine, understanding that Alex had needed the liquid relaxation to articulate his fight or flight conundrum. It was a Mexican stand off as the first course of seafood in rose marie sauce was served. Neither diner ate. Since becoming the master of his own destiny, Maxim had never had to explain his actions to anyone. "You're safety is paramount to my security. I hired English personnel so you would not be so isolated."

Alex smiled as he was the master of denial and avoidance himself, he shrugged and began to eat.

Maxim was even more puzzled by Alex's apparent submission after clearly planning this confrontation.

As the first course plates were cleared and steak was served. Alex had gone through everything that had changed in the past few weeks and the only change being the fact Alex had received post from America, a very brief communication from Joe Canterbury. "So, I went to school with James Sprintz. In that class, there were the children of several well connected, prominent and superrich businessmen. I was only there for three weeks and I was only friendly with James. So the other kids included Paul Roscoe of Roscoe Industries, Communications and others, Dimitry Ivanov son of General Viktor Ivanov, also Hugo Vries, Nicholas Marc, Joe Canterbury, Cassian James and Tom McMorin; I only spoke to them briefly. I can assure you, I was not friends with the other guys; in fact I doubt I would recognise any of them now. Joe writing to me is completely out of the blue. In fact, I'll show you his letter."

Alex got up an retrieved the missive from his store of personal items.

 _'_ _Dear Spyboy - Reduced to writing to you via snail mail. Come off it, its the twenty-first century, you have no social media. Here is my email, messaging, phone, blog, instagram, Skype and Facebook details._

 _All the other guys gave up trying to find you. Partly because James was very reluctant to rekindle your friendship. Good job at scaring him off. I got Maxim's details from his dad, Dieter and I just sent this to his home address. Write, mail, phone or message. Owe you everything. Joe. PS my parents are still dicks, lived with my grandma after liberation from Stalag Grief.'_

Alex let Maxim read the letter. He pulled up Joe's blog on his phone, "Look at his blog, that guy is a serious anti globalisation and anti government protester. I talk to him and I'll get flagged up on several security databases as a person to watch. The kind of attention I actively avoid. I still think the Chinese won't give me a visa for your planned visit to Shanghai in June. I was thinking of talking to him next time we were Moscow on a burner phone."

"He is handsome." Maxim said softly, staring at the remains of his dinner.

"Yeah, his long hair is almost as impressive as mine was. I guess I looked like a freaking hippy when I arrived, but I had a phobia of barbers, I'm not into any save the anything anymore. Hell, Mine, pillage, destroy, that's fine by me. I dealt with bastards blackmailing and abusing me to take on nutters playing the thermonuclear global annihilation and biological warfare cards; you get just a tad jaded about humanity after those sorts of games." It was not like Alex even considering procreating. Best way of avoiding an unplanned pregnancy was not to fuck females in the first place. The young man relaxed, jealousy and the fact Joe was a seriously badass environmentalist had caused the change in priorities. "So, do you like my outfit. The girl in Paris assured me I looked smoking hot in it."

"It is indecent." Maxim said, but Alex could see he was now aroused.

"I bought it with you in mind. Do you get I like being owned. Its comfortable and safe, just being with you. If you need me to be babysat thats OK, but I do feel like pulling those guys chains, so if they leave don't be upset with me."

"Do you not like them?" The billionaire queried, wondering what had transpired on their first day on duty.

Alex chuckled "Only met two of them today. The youngest guy, well I've been pigeonholed as a fairy and nothing more to him. The older guy, well I think he has a tad too much empathy than is good for him. I'm not nice, I'm a paid killer and they need to understand that." Back in the mood to eat, the handsome blond smirked and asked "What's for dessert?"

…

Alex was extremely frustrated at the ill timed phone call. Maxim was sat naked at his desk, his laptop on and in full work mode as his lover watched from the bed. He was hard, horny and knew his partner was unlikely to return to bed. He should get up and retreat into the shower to wank himself off. His release no longer in the pursuit of a pleasure but a matter of necessity, as another day of work started at 4AM. He lay naked and pondered the snippets of conversation he could hear. Protesters in Irkutsk, trespassing at the main gas depot, TV coverage.

Tonight, he wanted to be selfish, he wanted Maxim to himself, no ever present staff, no background of bitchy gossip. The physical aspect of their relationship was so good, the older businessman was a superb lover, attentive to his partners pleasure, generous with touch and sensation not just penetration. Alex let his hands ghost over areas still sensitive from their foreplay, his nipples erect nubs, his lips and face fully sensitised by the light stubble burn, his arse still loose and lubricated from fingers, lips and tongue; not full fingering just loosening the ring of muscles. God he loved how Maxim got him worked up, to teeter on the edge of orgasm. Alex had been treated like a prince, only his cock had been neglected in anticipation of the final act of fucking. He rolled to reach over into the bedside cabinet and pulled out the sex toys, a large dildo shaped vibrator, lube and a plug.

The unsatisfied lover lubed up the dildo, pushing it slowly into himself welcoming the stretch and accompanying slight burn, gasping as it touched his prostate. He knew he was on display, in full view of the office through the open door. Alex smiled when he heard Maxim stutter mid sentence as he saw what his unsated lover was doing.

Closing his eyes, the blond lithe young man rode the waves of pleasure as the plastic toy pulsated inside him. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Even though he was fully hard he knew the toy alone would not suffice. He swapped hands and his right hand encircled his cock to bring himself off, only to be stopped by the familiarity of Maxim's large muscled hands. He bit back and whining as the toy was removed, but his partner urged him onto his hands and knees and then Alex filled by Maxim's large rock hard erection and the older man fucked him like they had been parted for weeks.

Maxim was out of breath when he finally spoke, his softening cock still inside his lover; "You are mine, Sasha. I hate the fact others look at you. Everyday I fight the urge to keep you safe here, but then I think of how much fun it is to wine and dine with you, go to the ballet or opera with you; even boring meetings are enlivened by your presence ". The older man kissed Alex possessively before he moved to lay down on the side of his lover, his fingers running up and down Alex's arse, and back, smearing the leaking semen onto unblemished flesh. He then reached over and sucked at the muscled shoulder leaving a dark love bite. He then bit the raised flesh of Alex's burn scars. "No rest today, come shower with me, then we can plan out trip to Moscow. The Department of Interior Affairs can try to withdraw our licences for the planned pipeline to our new exploration sites. A waste of money pandering to protesters. The area was covered waste from uranium mining before the forest reestablished itself in the 1980s. There was no reinstatement or cleaning up under the soviets. Half the route is radioactive."

Alex picked up the butt plug and handed it to Maxim, and smiled at his evil, wanton thoughts "if I wear that all day, you can fuck me in the car as soon as its over. Think about being balls deep in me as we go though security leaving the Kremlin?"

The Russian shook his head and dryly commented "Thinking of such depraved things is probably breaking several laws, doing it is treason. Our president is not known for openness or understanding."

…

Alex looked at the security plan of action. He frowned as his rota stated old man Roy was meant to be his babysitter, but that had been changed to macho man Nick. His assassin trained instincts had him on alert. "What's up with the old man today, Anatoli?"

"Been vomiting all night, food poisoning. Off work for two days, doctors orders."

They all ate the same food and no one else was ill, it had to be a Mickey Finn. Alex went to Anatoli and whispered "High alert, OK. I have a funny feeling that things might go spectacularly wrong."

The Russian watched as the new Englishman arrived and then ignored everyone, even his mark. Hand signals passed between the three ex-Spetsnaz operatives making up these security detail to be on high alert. Travelling was a military operation in itself with two helicopters to the airstrip then the private jet to Moscow with two armoured cars to the Kremlin. Alex's uneasiness was just paranoia. The new guy was not part of some Machiavellian plot as Maxim's people had checked him out, it was just Roy being sick nothing more. His instincts were screaming that today was going to go bad, hopefully only in a business sense, not people dying. All the other guys had families waiting for them. He refused to contemplate Max dying, not on his watch.


	12. Chapter 12

By 9AM the Eastern Siberia Gas and Oil Business Jet landed and was met by three FSB at the small private airstrip south of Moscow. A short, terse discussion between the uniformed security officers with Anatoli and Ivan, and the group had an agreed plan of action. Maxim was going to the Kremlin, but Alex and his personal shadow weren't. Two cars travelled to the meeting with the Minister of the Interior and two unwanted extras were left at the airport, to amuse themselves for several hours. Alex walked over to the small passenger lounge and sat down. He was glad for a few hours without concentrating on all possible threats. Luckily he had brought his journal, it had been several days since his last entry and he was far from being the picture of health. The rift caused by Maxim's sudden need to protect his toy, had left him feeling isolated, all due to mixed messages, jealousy and lack of communication. Alex wrote down a list of points and then considered his own failings. Paranoia about his own security team was still niggling him the most. The idea of MI6 keeping tabs on him made his stomach do flips. He could understand the FSB as they treated him like he didn't exist, and in truth Alex preferred that.

"Want a coffee, Sasha?" Nick asked of the billionaire's squeeze.

With a shake of his head Alex politely declined, "No, thanks. Both the tea and coffee here are shit. I'll hold off until lunch at the Pushkin. Champagne and caviar if the meeting goes well. Pickles and vodka if it doesn't. Max goes all peasant when he's upset." The blond young man preferred the plain lunches with his dour and scheming lover and had developed a taste for the occasional shot of ice cold rough grain alcohol.

The mercenary sat down and tried to figure out this kid, one who should be in college, one who had a background of spying, assassination and torture. Only in his early twenties, rumour was the escort was pimped out by the Maning Brothers. What did it matter, he was being paid to protect a kid who was hard as nails and who was packing knives and a gun and was not afraid to use them. All the clues he had observed showed the kid had suffered, survived and was now basking in the luxury of being Belkov's kept man. He had no real beef about same sex couples, only this wasn't love or even dating, just a business transaction. The Russian was smitten with the blond and wanted his investment protected. The kid did not flirt or even lust after the handsome stewards or the few women Belkov employed. Nick had studied enough psychology to see this as disassociation, the kid was detached from emotional attachments.

….

Roy was laid in bed, thankful he was on the mend; as Mark and Damian played rummy to pass the hours, as Nick had gone to Moscow. The older security specialist was beginning to dislike Tosh, who was a bloody hypocrite, ranting about working for a poof, but was still taking the money. This whole job was a cushy number as the kid was not going anywhere unless with his paymaster's express permission. The estate was like Fort Knox, no bogies here. Out on the rigs, refineries and oil fields, that was different, only Belkov was the target not his lover.

Mark laid down his winning hand and asked the invalid "Want dealing in?"

"Sure." The ill security guard was up for something to entertain him as it had been over eight hours since he had last vomited. He then started to fish, asking after the connection between the SAS man and their mark. "Your boy Cub, you never explained how he ended up working for those bastards, the Manning's?"

Mark shuffled then dealt the cards and thought back to the guarded teenager who had trained briefly in Brecon. "I had a chat with the boy, you know he's quite candid about how MI6 washed their hands of him. Remember the Heathrow job, that getaway driver who got a 15 year stretch. The kid, he's good friends with Looney Dave. Worked for him in his coffee shop, not doing anything illegal, just getting by. He took this when offered. I got the impression the kid thinks spying is two steps down from prostitution, so he's going up in the world."

Roy frowned, mostly at the piss poor cards in his hand, but at that bleak assessment of working for SIS. "He must have been treated like shit if bending over for an old creep is better."

"Blackmailed into undercover ops right after his uncle was murdered, no backup, half arsed medical cover with no proper psych sessions. Kid fully admits he was a proper basket case at fifteen. He paid for his own therapist in London and well Belkov offers the best medical cover, so it's win win all the way here. Alex says girls are a waste of time anyway as he has no interest in playing happy families with anyone. Here he's paid entertainment and likes the fact it's purely business. After the shit he's survived this is hog heaven." Mark then put his full attention into the game.

...

Paul Drevin listened to the recordings, read the file and noted the detailed photos proving the MI6 teen spy was now a high class escort for that pervert who threatened his mother. His contact had supplied a wealth of information on the paid entertainment, who never strayed far from his boss. Here on the data stick was proof the pair fucked regularly. The boy he had befriended, who had saved him from being kidnapped and possibly killed on the orders of his own father, had liked Tamara, had flirted with her. Was he wasting money trying to save a man, who did not want to be saved? His mother's ex boyfriend said Sasha was happy with this arrangement, preferring a business relationship to any romantic illusions. His chat with James Sprintz had been almost damning, as Rider had stated his saving the world days were over, in fact he'd cheer on the end of the world. Disillusioned to the point of being nihilistic in the extreme. Life had destroyed a true hero.

Drevin then reread the last chapter in Edward Pleasure's book on the rapist and wannabe serial killer strangled by Alex. That chapter discussed the self determination of a kid lost in the system, to be a survivor not a victim. Paul could only conclude Alex was still lost and was quite happy with the gilded cage he now resided in. In Russia, Alex had run from everything that hurt, that reminded him of home, friends and normal. Paul Drevin agreed with Paul Roscoe, their saviour needed an intervention.

The one good thing about his meeting with the survivors of Point Blanc Academy was that he was now an intern for Roscoe Communications. He was going to Harvard Law School in the Fall, but this six month placement would help him network and allow him to escape the poisoned legacy of his father.

…

After nearly six months in New York, Rob Blanchard was now a recruitment Psychologist for Roscoe Communications. He had a lovely apartment on the Upper West Side, living with Henry, an actor studying at Columbia, whose wealthy parents indulged his every wish. In truth, it was a rebound relationship. Rob still wanted his former boyfriend and was still in denial that Alex had just walked away. The dark haired professional also knew his brother knew what Alex was up to, but only cryptically stated that Rob did not want to know.

He took the elevator to the 40th floor of the gleaming monolith in Midtown where Roscoe Communications had its base. An interdepartmental seminar on company goals was being hosted by the twenty one year old company owner. This was the first time Rob would meet the wunderkind who had taken over in a bloody coup at eighteen, sacking half the board and ousting his mother as chairman. Paul Roscoe was a natural entrepreneur with a ruthless streak, but a man who recruited outside of normal avenues, a company policy which had seen the failing business turn around in two and a half years to be a world power on par with the heyday when Michael Roscoe held sway before his premature death.

Rob took detailed notes. His one question on recruitment goals had led to a discussion on the benefits of new international scholarships. As the groups mixed and networked, Paul Roscoe made his way over to talk to the missing piece of the puzzle. Alex's ex-boyfriend was a man worth knowing, as Paul had guessed the former spy had run to protect the man he loved. The truth was that emotional attachments were weapons for bastards like the CIA and MI6.

"Hi, Rob. I read your report on expanding our unorthodox recruitment strategies. Thinking outside the box drove my dad build this conglomerate and I need all the help I can get keeping us current and in the black. You are ahead of the game and happy to be a maverick and that's refreshing. So, are you free for dinner on the nineteenth? I'm having a few friends over. You might know Paul Drevin, he's an intern with legal?"

"Yes, I know Paul." Rob wondered on their connection as the legal intern was intense and not at all social. The psychologist had assessed the guy as career driven to the detriment of all else. That must be wrong if he got invited to dinner with Paul Roscoe, as the boss collected the bright, the beautiful and those in the media eye. The only child of Paul Drevin was a mere shadow of his larger than life father.

…..

Rob was amazed at the Penthouse. The art on the walls were modern masterpieces, contemporary and shocking. He sipped the champagne as Henry flirted with the DJ Cassian James. Paul Drevin was staring at a photo on the mantlepiece. Rob went over to say hi but was distracted by the blond boy with brutally short hair "OMG is that Alex standing next to Paul?"

"Oh you know Alex do you?" said the legal intern drolly. "Paul keeps in touch with his school friends. All except Alex that is. Rider does not talk to anyone. I'm here as a friend of friend. Not interesting in my own right, only by association."

Rob had always known his ex had secrets, but school with billionaires? He then connected the card Alex had sent him stating he last crossed paths with Rob's brother 'Wolf' at his boarding school in France. "So, did you go to school with Alex then?"

"Oh no, Alex got mistaken for me and got kidnapped for his troubles. Like I look anything like Mr. Perfect." The statement dripped with sarcasm as Paul was pale, skinny and had lank dark hair. "God, I still hero worship that nutter." The young intern then turned to face his companion and asked the million dollar question, "So, Rob when did you cross paths with spy boy?"


	13. Chapter 13

The co-pilot was a recent addition to East Siberian Gas and Oil, the young man stuttered as he informed his billionaire boss of the late change in the flight plan. One thing Maxim detested was anything unexpected in his very ordered life. "S..s..sorry, Mr. Belkov, but we are being diverted. There is an ice storm affecting the airport at Irkutsk, in order to refuel we're being diverted to Ulan-Ude."

"How long before we can return west as I take it landing in Irkutsk is out of the question?" Maxim asked in an irritated tone.

"All day in Ulan-Ude is a certainty. The weather problems, refuelling and resubmitting the change of route to the flight plan will mean a delay of at least eight hours, as there is no available change of flight crew, as per Aviation Regulations". The day in Irkutsk had been full with fourteen hours hectic hours of meetings at the Gas Distribution Depot, with the Oblast Governor and with members of the Legislature. The inclement weather could sour the delicate negotiation position in the light of widely publicised environmental issues.

The businessman, closed his eyes and rubbed the top of his nose, before talking options over with his personal assistant "Lara, can we arrange a video conference at best or car transfer and rearrange the meetings and press conference? I take it we're not going to be stuck in a substandard lounge at the airport like happened to Aleksandr in Moscow?" Maxim had sacked his last PA for his oversight in leaving Alex to fend for himself. The meeting had overrun two days ago and Alex had been left at the Airport for nine hours, when the flight crew had transferred to a hotel to rest and have a decent meal.

Larissa Mostova held up her hand and stated "Give me an hour to scope out our options. I take it the car transfer is the least preferred option." The seven hour drive was expected with a clear road, not with icy and potential blizzard conditions.

Ivan butted in and smiled "You know its safer to fly. Our armoured cars and vetted drivers are in Irkutsk. Hiring out would be risky."

Maxim sighed "We need our new depot open ASAP. It's a last minute hiccup. The chances of our enemies anticipating this is miniscule."

Alex Rider had been snoozing with the stewards, as the flight time had been used to brainstorm an action plan anticipating all problems and responses. He had woken to overhear the co-pilot's doom like proclamation. The former spy knew chaos was his natural state and what could go wrong, would go wrong. Ivan looked seriously pissed at being overruled by mere economics, as the old soldier had kept Maxim alive for over a decade with his sage advice. A delay in opening would cost millions, but the company would still be extremely profitable. It was only a storm in a teacup and the gas would still get to their customers. Maxim was being an idiot, lulled into a false sense of security by several dull months. The truth was as soon as you relaxed your guard, the greatest dangers arose. Just like with Jack, when she had planned her escape home and died in Egypt and just like Alex, who had thought of San Fransisco as his chance of a return to normal life. He had almost found happiness with Rob, had let his guard down, but the past never let you go, your own personal demons and your enemies never forgave and never forgot. From bitter experience, Alex feared his former employers as much as his supposed adversaries.

…..

Alex sat in their hotel room, not the Presidential Suite at the Baikal Plaza Hotel, but six standard rooms on the fourth floor, with security and staff on either side. He was supposedly sharing with Maxim, but his lover was downstairs in the conference room busy with a video conference trying to salvage his plans, while stuck several hundred miles east of his planned meetings. In the small tub, the man surplus to both business and security concerns, tried to relax. The hotel were trying very hard to impress this large, influential and unexpected party. A chef was promised to be on call just for them. Alex had already ordered his own simple dinner of local noodle soup, bread and a bottle of carbonated water.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon and it would be this evening at the earliest before they travelled either to Irkutsk or back home. Alex could go sight seeing in this mysterious Siberian city, one he had not travelled to before; but only if Ivan gave his approval and only accompanied by his own shadow. Alex was unlikely to leave his room as he disliked Nick almost as much as the mercenary despised him. Hate was easy to understand, to accommodate by simply being super polite. His feelings for Maxim weren't, it was getting complicated. He was easily forgotten about, pushed to the side as business was always more important. In truth, he had been reduced to a mere possession for the billionaire, not a partner. He was breaking the rules by becoming emotionally compromised as well. Alex sighed as he added more hot water to the tub. In December, he would not renew his contract. He would travel, find himself and maybe find happiness and fulfilment along the way. India, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam were places untainted by his past. He could learn new languages, explore cultures not covered in Ian's lessons and forget this half life of neither love nor real work. He had eight months to sit on his arse looking pretty until he planned to move on. Maxim could buy himself another companion for personal entertainment. Alex already knew the Russian would not chase after him, nor attempt to move this stalemate into a real relationship.

…..

A convoy of four cars travelled back to the Airport that evening. Alex, his bodyguard with local driver in the rear car. The Siberian driving played the local Buryat language radio station loud enough to discourage any conversation. As they passed a garage just outside the airport, the man abruptly pulled in and grunted "Need cigarettes" in heavily accented Russian, turning north, breaking the convoy. None of the other cars noted the deviation.

The jet was fuelled, all preflight checks done. The jet engine was warming up. Ivan frowned as all were seated except the two Englishmen. "Maxim, the fourth car is late."

The businessman was tired, sick of delays after over ten hours stuck on the wrong side of Lake Baikal and made a hard decision on the spot, "We leave. Lara text Alex. Tell him to go back to the hotel and get the morning commercial flight to Irkutsk. We have already been cleared for take off. I have wasted too much time already to wait for a broken down car, lost or a slow driver."

…..

Alex woke slowly. His chest hurt, a lot. He knew he'd been drugged and that he'd been out for a while by the dryness of his mouth. From the sounds and the vibrations, he knew he was in a plane, a business jet; but not one of Maxim's. This one sounded smaller. He remembered being in the car with Nick and the unexpected stop at the gas station. He had reached for his gun to be stopped by the unexpected pain of being tasered. Without opening his eyes, he assessed his situation. On a stretcher, IV in his left arm, heart monitor beeping away and an oxygen mask on his face. He flexed his muscles and felt restraints. Was he injured? Was this a genuine Medical evacuation? He opened his eyes to see a doctor and a nurse. Only there was Nick sat watching him, without his jacket, gun in his shoulder holster. Alex was exhausted, unable to do anything about this potential kidnapping. He wanted to panic, to fight, but that would alert his potential kidnappers to his being awake and aware. Like he had been taught by Ian and by SCORPIA, the trapped man relaxed and played possum. His mindscape returned to his calming walk in Oxshott Woods, his walk in control of his destiny, his dream of digging his own grave.

The patient's heart rate had risen alarmingly and it was dangerously too fast, at over 130 beats per minute. The doctor was then busy attending his semi-conscious patient. "We need to divert, Rider is going into Cardiac Arrest again."

Alex could hear the pilot on the radio to Air Traffic Control requesting an emergency landing with full medical assistance. The restrained patient choked out, "Oxshott…. want to go to Oxshott Woods. I dream I'm there. So, peaceful. So, beautiful. Wish Jack and Yasha were with me."

Nick held the hand of his extraction target. "Its OK, Alex. We'll get you into hospital and it'll all be OK. You're safe and secure. No worries, OK. Just hang in there. You'll get your walk in the woods." The simple stun and go had gone spectacularly wrong. Rider was meant to be on his way to a specialist deprogramming centre in Utah. Only the kid had a damaged heart and the taser had caused severe medical complications. The odds of Alex surviving to make it to an ICU were decreasing with every second in the air. After the correction of his atrial fibrillation in Siberia, the kid had stabilised and had been fine when they had refuelled in Stuttgart. Now they were going to land in England and their plan on a simple intervention had failed.

…..

Paul Roscoe listened intently on his personal mobile phone from the man he had paid a hundred grand to get his hero into decent psychiatric care. The heir of Michael Roscoe knew the cat was out of the bag and it was technically assault and kidnapping across international borders. Nick Billings specialised in extractions from cults, abusive relationships and negotiations with real kidnappers. Two cardiac arrests in the space of twelve hours and Alex Rider was now in hospital in London. The specialist deprogramming mercenary had made it to a friends house before calling the spectacular fail in. Instead of saving Alex from himself, Paul's plan was almost killed him. Now he had to come clean with Alex's foster family and his close friends. Like the old saying the road to hell was paved with good intentions and Paul had damned himself by trying to get Alex back into a normal life away from that bastard Russian asshole. He knew no criminal charges would stick, not with Drevin helping to cover the paper trail; but he was man enough to admit he had fucked up. He could only hope Alex could one day forgive him.


	14. Chapter 14

After 24 hours delay, a tiring but ultimately successful day in Irkutsk, the round robin business meetings were over and the party from East Siberian Gas and Oil and their security were ready to travel to the airport and return home. Max assumed Sasha and his bodyguard were at the airport waiting for them, but there had been no communications nor confirmation that either Sasha or Nick had received the messages sent last night. The lack of a return text had been first inkling that something had gone terribly wrong. Confirmation came when a team of FSB internal security agents were waiting to ask questions before they boarded their plane. Ivan moved to intercept, fielding questions about his security team. It had became clear that Nick Belling had serving another master, and yesterday he had kidnapped his target. Not Maxim as the FSB had assumed, but Alex Rider.

"We assume his identity is an alias and that he is freelance, probably either exCIA, Mossad or MI6. The extraction used the cover of a medical emergency. A reputable Swiss air ambulance company had been hired by a dead drop company in Panama, for the transfer from Ulan-Ude to Denver. The fact there were two highly trained medical personnel aboard saved Rider's life, one because he went into cardiac arrest and the attending doctor insisted on a diversion to a hospital. Rider is now in London at the London Chest Hospital. His 'bodyguard' has disappeared, as we have issued a warrant for kidnapping and attempted murder."

Maxim had listened in but he now stepped forward, "What went wrong, causing Sasha to nearly die?"

The older officer knew the personal details, that Belkov and this Rider were lovers. "We arrested the driver in Ulan-Ude, it looks like Rider was on high alert and likely to scupper the snatch, so he was tasered when the car approached the Medevac business jet. The massive electric shock was not so good for his damaged heart and pulmonary system. He's lucky to be alive." The fact was Rider had been a medical miracle to survive the sniper in 2001.

...

Of the last twelve hours, Alex only remembered bits and pieces. Various medical personnel bothering him, either asking annoying questions or poking him. There had been a helicopter ride at some point and he had arrived at a large hospital in London. He was confused as to how and why he had somehow left Russia and returned to England. He'd barely understood the technical babble, the surgery this morning had been to stabilise his heart. He had woken to Edward Pleasure by his bed looking both tired and worried. Alex knew he was in the Intensive Care Unit and was recovering from two cardiac arrests and open heart surgery. At 22 years old, he now had a piece of electrical equipment in his chest keeping his heart beating within normal parameters. Clause 14 in his contract of employment had been triggered, a full payout as a result of injury or incident at work.

Alex then worried on why he had been kidnapped. Was it part if the plan to take out the primary target, which logically did not make sense, it would have been cheaper and easier just to put a bullet in his head. Alex then spoke in a harsh rasp, "Dad? Is Maxim OK?"

Edward was startled from his worrying and grasped Alex's hand. "Morning, trouble. Max is completely fine according to the woman I spoke to this morning. Larissa, his PA I take it? Stop worrying about work. You need to concentrate on you and getting well. Rest and recuperation for at least six weeks."

…..

In the semi privacy of the plane, when most of the staff were asleep, Ivan noted his good friend was still awake. With a low whisper, he started a conversation he should have had months ago, he feared his hesitation had ruined his friends chance of future happiness. "You know not a day goes by that I do not thank God about our friendship. Ever since you saved my Nadia from that fire. You still carry the scars from those burns, proof of your selfless heroism. You showed me then you were not the cold ruthless bastard all take you for. It never mattered to me that you are not attracted to women. How things have changed concerning that, especially in the west. Change is slower here, but it is no longer a crime for consenting adults. This past year, you are more relaxed, happier working, you handle situations less aggressively." The soldier paused considering his words, having to make a man who had decided to be alone that he could change, that he had changed already. "I have been in love for a long time, I found my soul mate as a young conscript. Beautiful Nadia who rules my life. We manage our home and work with prolonged separations and my travel commitments. I am still a love sick fool, I am now going to give you some advice on that score. It is not a criticism, nor me putting my nose where it's not wanted. You being happy is good for everyone. That strange English boy makes you happy."

Maxim sat and remained silent as he pondered that statement, as everything Ivan had said was truth. Only Aleksandr had been taken from him despite of and possibly because he hired in those English bodyguards. The three others had already been taken to Moscow and questioned by the FSB, their work visas revoked. All guilty by association. Now he was alone again and he felt numb, in shock, like a piece of him had been lost.

Ivan pulled out a small hip flask, and handed it to his friend. "Have a sip of good homemade vodka." He watched his friend grimace as the oily liquid burned its way to his stomach. "You have a choice to make. Are you willing to be brave again? This time to save yourself and your beautiful Sasha. He is damaged, even more so than you. He runs from love, from stability, from home. You had become home to him and you have to fight to stop him running and denying himself home and happiness. He has no reason to return to Russia. You need to make a decision, old friend. Do you want your lover or not? Are you going to do nothing and lose him? Or are you man enough to allow yourself to take what you want, to love and protect Aleksandr always."

The Siberian pondered Ivan's description of love as protection and possessiveness. Everything in his being wanted to go to Sasha. It would take some organisation and trusting his employees, to learn to delegate. All was possible, he could go to London. Maxim bitterly thought that Alex could still reject him, but Alex was still in danger. Whoever had wanted to take him still could. He above all wanted his lover safe and well, be that by his side of not. A long distance relationship was still a relationship. He had been spoiled by nearly 16 months of having his lover with him 24/7. He might have to compromise, to change how he worked and lived. He had already changed because of Sasha. Now he was going to fight to keep his lover, to ensure he was happy and safe. Business for the first time in over thirty years was secondary. "You are right, Ivan. I need to decide, I have decided. First, I will sleep and consider everything when we get home."

...

Arkady had been promoted to Close Personal Protection for this trip to London. He alone was travelling with Maxim as a team had been hired in to handle all other aspects of security while they were abroad. He had endured a long and detailed induction from Ivan, about more than just protecting his boss but also acting as guidance and looking after the well being of Ivan's friend. The whole security team had been affected by the loss of Sasha, even though the kid had tried to remain aloof, they had trained with him and he was a member of their team, who had been assaulted and abducted.

It was 10, by the time Maxim sat down for breakfast. He calmly ate his bowl of buckwheat porridge and went through to do lists in his mind, most could be done on his journey to England. Lara would accompany him there and return alone. His PA, directors and managers would handle things in his absence and he was only a flight away from any problem that could not be handled by email or over the phone.

His housekeeper was packing his bags when he returned to his room. "Maria, remember to pack some essentials for Sasha. I assume he has nothing in London." That was he truth, that this had been Aleksandr's home. He had sold the house in Bermondsey last autumn and had been looking to buy an apartment in Moscow.

Ivan was right. He was not a coward. If he had been he would have listened his father's cruel taunts and taken them to heart. He would have married to pretend to be normal and settled for the life of an insignificant manual worker. He had always been truthful to himself. He was gay as they called his perversion in the west. Now he was going one step further, he was going to ask Sasha to share his life with him. They could even have a legal partnership in England.

On the plane, Lara had gone through the diary, through all current projects and the goals for expansion. Maxim closed his laptop. "Do we have a legal team in London?"

"Yes, Maxim. Leftbridge, Black and Partners. I will email you their details." The woman then asked "do you need me to talk to them?"

"Not yet. After I see Sasha. It all depends on what he wants."

...

Sabina was glad she had the day off, even though she would be spending it in a hospital. Her boss was aware her foster brother was seriously ill, but the ogre had stressed the foster prefix, implying Alex was not really family. He was to her and her parents and in an ideal world he would have been her adopted brother. On the tube, she clutched the bag of goodies she had purchased and under her breath damned Sunny Brennan to the lowest pits of hell along with all other child abusers. At least Alex was no longer in ICU, just the High Dependency Cardiac Ward. He was likely to be discharged by next Tuesday, her parents had already prepared the guest room for Alex. The cardiologist wanting regular appointments to assess the damage to Alex's heart. The doctor had stressed that if he had not been at the peak of physical fitness, he would have died in Ulan-Ude.

She made her way to the ward and saw Henry Dunning had beat her too it. The sixty something jeweller and pawn shop proprietor had met and fallen in love with Loony Dave in prison, the lovely man had been serving time for receiving stolen goods, which he had cheerfully passed off as an occupational hazard.

The older man put down his book and went to hug the beautiful young lady and offer her his chair. Alex was sound asleep.

Henry then brought Sabina up to date. "Bad night. Nightmares the sister told me. They might move him into a private room if they continue. Alex has refused to see a shrink. Being stubborn as usual. He barely ate any lunch. How was your morning, beautiful?"

"Working nights is a bind, but work is work and I'm lucky to have a job. I raided M&S for some tasty treats on the way over." Sabina was lucky to be a sub editor for the London office of Reuters. Jobs were thin on the ground and times were hard. This was better than an internship as she was getting paid, even if she still lived in a sublet room.

After dinner, Sabina read the text that her mother sent informing both that she would not be there until 8. The siblings were playing blackjack and Sabina knew Alex would beat her every time as his pile of Skittles proved the point. A forty something man dressed in an expensive suit, coat and shoes combo arrived at 7:45. Alex tried to sit up straight but only managed to wince in pain. He then spoke a long phrase in Russian that made the stranger move in close and stroke Alex's face, with care and gentleness as fully aware of his recent open heart surgery.

Alex leaned up and kissed his lover, not caring for the audience or open view to the hall. He had mumbled "I feared you were dead. I still don't understand why I was snatched and then dumped in hospital. Nothing makes sense."

Sabina smiled as it was obvious Alex was completely smitten and that his feelings were returned. Maybe he could have a chance of happiness with his Russian.

Maxim looked embarrassed as Sabina Pleasure brought him a seat. The woman with dark hair and cheeky smile then said "Hello Maxim. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances but welcome to the family."

Maxim had been welcomed by Alex's family as both his sister and mother accepted him as their son's lover with no disgust nor disapproval. If he made Alex happy, that was all that mattered. In fact, both knew he had dropped his business commitments for his lover and approved wholeheartedly. The only downside is that he got no time alone with Sasha and too soon visiting hours were over until 11 the next morning. The Russian was even invited to stay at the family home. He declined and returned to his suite at the Dorchester.

...

Alex lay back in his bed and tried to process what Max had just asked him. He had understood the sentence, but was sure he had misunderstood at a fundamental level . He then asked his visitor "can you please repeat that in English as I want to make sure I fully understand you."

"Sasha darling. I cannot bear to be parted from you. Your contract has been fulfilled but I still want and need you. Would you please consider being my legal partner, my husband? I am asking for a civil partnership, with a pre-partnership agreement."

The twenty two year old considered this. "This is you being possessive and selfish, isn't it? You want me above and beyond our annual contract."

"Divorce is possible; but I am selfish and possessive. I am used to getting my own way."

Alex could not help but smile at his lover's candour. He got that this was a man who was ruthless and wanted to keep his lover safe without mentioning the words that triggered Alex's control issues . No mention of love or happiness. He was fine being a possession or a plaything. This was a long term version of the last sixteen months. "Yes, Maxim. I agree to be yours as long as you want or need me."

…..

In an open ward, the fact one of their patients just got engaged seemed to have spread like wildfire as the nurses came and offered congratulations to the happy couple.

With a date set, for the following Friday; in preparation, Maxim had his lawyers draw up a prenuptial agreement. It was generous, but contained a full non disclosure agreement, but if they split, Alex would be guaranteed an income and a place to live. He was making sure that Alex was aware that he wanted them to remain friends even if the relationship broke down. Later that afternoon Alex would sign and get Dave to witness it. It seemed surreal that Maxim was a possessive enough bastard to want Alex tied into a full possibly lifetime contract. How would his business competitors react to the fact he'd effectively married his escort?

….

The consultant had brought round a team of students and junior doctors, all interested in both his gunshot wound and the serious effects of being electrocuted. As the crowd moved on to the next patient, Mr Wood stated "Congratulations on your engagement. The American Hospital in Moscow has a superb cardiac team for your aftercare. You need to have regular follow up appointments and please adhere to medical advice. For the next six weeks do not over exert yourself and you will not get the all clear to fly until I deem you fit enough. Just a word of warning, even with your prenuptial agreement and civil partnership, you have no legal rights in Russia."

Alex had spoken to the Interpol Officers and the staff here assumed he had been kidnapped as a means to threaten his boyfriend. "Thanks for the warning, but I've always known Maxim was a man loathed and feared by his business rivals. On a personal level he has been a kind, gentle and always considerate lover."


	15. Chapter 15

Alex was sat in a private room at the London Chest Hospital, surrounded by cards. He was counting down the minutes until he was back in Russia. The patient was genuinely surprised when a guest turned up at 11:15, well before official visiting hours. He could read the man's official ID, pinned to his suit, as the guy introduced himself as "Dr. Kenneth Shaw. It's a pleasure to finally met you, Mr. Rider". Alex was shaking the hand of M from SIS, who looked like a civil servant: middle aged, with grey hair, kind eyes and open body language. Anyone in the business knew he was a former field agent, a counter terrorism specialist and player of hard ball with the government inquiries over surveillance, undercover operatives and rendition.

"Call me Alex, Sir." Alex smiled, "I take it you got my letter."

The man sat down looking perturbed, "Yes. I was quite vexed when your allegations turned out to be true and that over a million pounds from your trust fund had been misappropriated by Special Operations."

The patient shrugged, that money was long gone. "I can stand on my own two feet. Got a great boss at the moment. Shame Help for Heroes lucked out, but I think the bastards at the Bank expected me to either top myself or go crawling back to them to be a good little yes-man. Hell will freeze over before I darken the Royal and General's door again."

"The internal inquiry found they had no reason to trigger the default clauses in Ian Rider's will. The remaining money was given to charity as per your wishes. I have the receipts."

Alex knew the money was not the reason for this visit. "Why are you here? Its not a social call and I really do not care if Ian's money went on guns, bribes, charitable causes or mass murder."

The man's face was full of concern "First order of business is your employer or should I say your fiancee, who is a ruthless businessman, one who has many enemies. You are young, maybe you should reconsider your future with him considering your fragile health."

"Your concern is misplaced. The fact he has many enemies is one of the things that drew us together in the first place. Considering I'm a paranoid ex-asset, I feel more at home knowing there are people out to get me than I did living with my ex in Bermondsey as a penniless nobody. I feel more real with Max. We fit together. Not a love match, not romantic, but it works for both of us." Alex sighed and decided to end this conversation before they offered him a desk job or a pension. "Really, after the CIA shafted me in San Francisco; I'd rather work for the Mannings than work for anyone associated with or recommended by Blunt, Jones or Crawley. Same for your friends in Washington and in Sydney. Max is a bastard, but he's an angel compared to those cunts. I don't belong here anyway."

The Head of SIS sized up this bitter ex-operative, "We owe you so much. I wish to convey my deepest apologies for the mistakes of my predecessors, in particular the amoral Mr. Blunt. You should never have been forced into operations in the first place."

Alex smiled and shook his head. "Water under the bridge. Please, I have grown to like the idea was that I was wiped from operational records, swept under the rug and forgotten about."

"There is the problem with Ms. Mentz, she has been acquitted on a technicality over withheld evidence. She will never work in the security services again. However, the documents at her pretrial hearing are now in the public record including her misconduct over your kidnapping. Its going to press that she withdrew the protection detail over a teenager in San Francisco in September 2002. If the journalists dig, they will get full disclosure over the Cairo incident and then your whole operational history with the CIA. Chances are everything will come out in the wash. You will have no back-up, no cover and will be prey to every hack out there."

Alex laughed, he would not be threatened by imminent disclosure, he'd been a child forced into operations, they made him a killer, It was a nightmare for MI6 not him. Even if he stayed silent Edward had enough ammunition to give the full story. "That's where you're wrong. Edward Pleasure has the heads up. You could use him and you can control what gets into the public domain ahead of the US fallout. My advice is to discredit Blunt fully. More than once he was told to bench me. Advice he ignored, so hang him out to dry and say its your department being fully transparent. I don't care, in a week I'll be back in Russia."

"If you come back in, we can protect you."

"No, that's not happening. I'll keep my mouth shut. No journalist can get to me through Max. I doubt I'll leave the estate after what happened in Ulan-Ude." Alex then wished for Max to be here, threatening lawsuits or worse. "Nice of you to drop by, Dr. Shaw; but I don't trust you. I don't trust anyone. I'm fully aware that I have a weird relationship with my fiancée. I like Max because he does not ask anything of me. He's read the files on me, did a full background check, but he never asks me about my past. He understands I keep secrets from him. I know the FSB told him about Ms. Mentz when we met her in Moscow. If she is stupid enough to make trouble, she'll find out I have friends closer to home that will shaft her." If one sniff about Point Blanc came out regarding Julius Grief and his homicidal brothers, Paul Roscoe will bury that bitch under a billion lawsuits if he's feeling altruistic or he'll just get the gutter press to smear her reputation as a traitor.

"I'm sure your former foster father will be more than happy to spoil her scoop. I hope you're feeling better son. Felicitations on your up and coming civil ceremony."

"Thanks for the heads up and good luck with the smear campaign on the delightful Ms. Mentz."

…

The ward phone was the only one permitted, so Alex purchased his phone cards and started to warn his friends of the imminent shit storm. First he spoke to Edward. "Hi, Ed just had a visit from spook central. Publish the whole lot as Mentz has let the cat out of the bad about Cairo. I told SIS to use you to control the extent of the blow back."

Edward pondered this "You think they'll go for that after all the bad publicity they had over GCHQ, Iraq and Libya?"

"Its the only way they can control the blame game by shafting Blunt, possibly Jones as well. They have it in black and white that I was to be binned after the Sayle situation. You'll fight for truth. I don't care if you paint me as a raging psychopath."

"Alex, that's one thing I'm sure you're not, considering you're about to tie the knot. I've already been sworn to secrecy over the details by Liz. You have made her and Sabina so happy."

….

Paul Roscoe had not expected a phone call from Alex Rider. One call he dreaded as he felt genuinely guilty over the failed rescue attempt.

"Hi, Paul. I'm not calling about your failed intervention, but a small CIA fuck-up which may out all the Grief clones. The Mentz trial. The bitch that deserved worse than a supermax has let the cat out of the bag about me and Cairo. One small hop, skip and a jump from Julius to Point Blanc and all that dirty laundry. You need to get your lawyers to cover your ass or get your muck rackers up to speed to either bury the truth about Grief Clones by trashing her big time."

The billionaire was glad he recorded all his calls. "Thank you for the heads up. I hear you and your Russian are getting hitched. I hope you're happy."

"Happy? Not part of my game plan. Safe and protected is good enough for me. You better tell Nick or whatever his real name is that Max is gunning for him. How's Roberto taking the fact I'm marrying the big bad wolf?"

"Haven't spoken to him about it. I can only hope you have a long and happy partnership. If you ever need anything, call me. If you guys are in town look me up. Roscoe Tower is the tall ugly monolith in the financial district."

Alex pondered the invitation and countered with one of his own, "If you're free on Monday, 11:45 at Southwark Registry Office and then a small party organised by Liz after. I think Max has already invited Jamie and Dieter. Let the other guys know. If they see me in the flesh they might not jump to conclusions that I'm nuts. Sorry, get over it, I'm nuts and oh so very gay."

…..

The last hurdle before discharge was the visit from the hospital psychiatrist. The bodyguard knew the routine, words that meant nothing, as he had been playing word games since he was fourteen. The ex-spy had learned to be guarded about his feelings and experiences since crossing paths with Dr. Steiner. Luckily, the shrink in Russia only wanted to know about work related incidents, not his past, his real fears, his secrets. Did he want to be open, upfront and truthful? Not a chance, he would stick to the line he remembered very little, considering it had ended before they even arrived in America. The whole scenario sounded like an intervention rather than revenge or extortion. He guessed it wasn't Dieter Sprintz, but Jamie was likely to have bitched about Psycho Rider to the rest of the Point Blanc crew. The other coincidence was the fact his ex now worked for Roscoe Industries.

The man smiled wanly, "Alex, I am a specialist in the psychological impact of abduction and imprisonment. You need to rationalise these event to prevent flashbacks or PTSD?" The doctor could see this bodyguard was emotionless and seemingly relaxed. Only the nightmares reported by the staff told a different story otherwise.

"Right. I guess I need to resolve my issues over serial abductions. This last one was unusual. They were concerned over my health and wellbeing, which was a first. In the past, I was first abducted at 14. Drugged, threatened, blackmailed. Happened quite frequently after that. Varied from threats to nearly dying. I was getting quite good at escaping: so, Herod Sayle, Russian bastard called Sarov, Crazy bastard called Cray, Ecoterrorists, my godfather and his friends, arsehole called McCain, the whole FUBAR in Cairo, then the delightful Sunny Brennan raped and crippled me. End game. I decided I was calling the shots. So, I've been in a relationship with my boss for 16 months. I see my impending civil ceremony just as an extension to my exclusive contract to the Russian Billionaire who employs me. Neither of us will ever admit to feelings or emotions or shit like that. In full confidence, he's the type of man that gets his own way, period. He asked so how could I say no. This abduction has actually got me the relationship goals I wanted, but was too afraid to push for."

The man noted down that response "You are very positive over almost dying. Have all your nightmares been about past instances of powerlessness"

Alex smiled at that fallacy. "Mostly, my past mistakes. I got through rehab, school, with the stupid idea of isolating myself from everyone. I had an epiphany when I returned to London, made friends, tried to date which was an even bigger mistake; then I started working for Max. I don't make long term plans. I leave that to Max." What could he say, Alex was well aware he lost any chance of normal at fourteen when he crossed paths with Alan Blunt, "So, you can write my situation up anyway you want, but I don't give a shit and any mind games you think of playing are wasted on me."

"No mindgames, Alex. I promise."

Alex could say a lot of things but there was no point going over mistakes when he was already ready to sign himself out, with or without a good report from the shrink. He was a realist, Max would get bored, eventually. The bitch of a pre-nup, meant no one could accuse Alex of marrying Max for his money.


End file.
